in my den on the outskirts of density the fools use miles to keep the wise at bay and they think theyre safe but for she she she and they wont speak speak speak ha her name like a bad joke the horns sound hits like a dull cloud as some poor son of a dont know how sets out and the scents out slash dust they should have learned if there was ever a reason not to stay here alone oh and its like a bad itch maybe she could be could be could be what i need need need ha so lets see i gathered up all my holy books o my holy ink and paper and i burned them all stripped naked and i set out and the scents out i am hunger i am thirst where i bite i hold till i die i could fast a hundred years i could lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze i could drink a river of blood and not burst now tell me who comes to disturb me she spoke with a voice colder than a grave but sure as stone i held my gaze i said i can make an inch a mile i am the outcast the truth lie i paint with ghosts i am any and every meaning in life i am black blood yeah i am deeper than dying i am not here to conquer i am here  the kill at her breath was a perfume there was no denying that we belonged to each other so what do gods do on equal ground they dont suffer any will but their own and so they went forth into stories told stories told stories told stories told