We hold an honorary degree in natural science
For stratigraphy of rock bottom
The layers were aplenty, as above, so below
But mostly below

The research is vast, thorough and firsthand
And it's a broad array of sources

For the complete guide to spiritual asshole of the world

A tour in words, sounds and pictures
Of the true south of nadir

Through burial grounds for broken dreams and crippled souls
The graves are shallow
We would dig them up with our bare hands
Just to rise above for a split second
And see them basked in the light of a dead sun
Beneath the sky of shit
And then take notes
Meticulously

We would consume deathbed confessions
Create a language of fading words

For this night is without end

We would compute dynamics of grief
And logic of venom, and we would listen
As history is written on cold skin of prophets
With vulture claws soaked in rat saliva

For this night is without end