Cold brains,
  unmoved,
  untouched,
  unglued,
  alone at last.
  
  No thoughts,
  no mind,
  to rot
  behind
  a trail of disasters.
  
  A final the curse,
  abandoned hearse,
  we ride disowned,
  corroded to the bone.
  
  The fields
  of green
  are bent,
  obscene,
  I lay upon the gravel.
  
  A worm of hope,
  a hangman's rope
  pulls me one way or the other.
  
  A final curse,
  abandoned hearse,
  we write this song,
  corroded to the bone.
  
  A bird
  of song
  is heard
  no longer
  in the evacuated heavens.
  
  And the drain
  is drawn,
  and drained
  and gone,
  and on and on, it doesn't matter.
  
  A final curse,
  abandoned hearse,
  we rock the salt,
  corroded to the bone.