Behind the flesh, beside the fallen
Beg the devil resist his calling
Breath on the neck, this satyriac demon
Who calls to the surface, all that has been sleeping
A mourning spent, an evening wasted
A mark of dissent, a chart drawn over skin
Where each mile is measured
In the pleasures of sin
I strip the moments from hours
Christen the dead and devour
All that has kept these thoughts pure
All that has led me to compose the words
Behind the flesh, beside the fallen
Behold the devil, breaking in.
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