Procession

Subjected nevermore, to the whims of the dying

Steal their flesh, from the pool of the lying

Injected more, erythematous moisture

Beyond high, by the chosen kind

Feel it, to breathe evermore

Of the wicked of the world, where processions' end

Subjected nevermore, to the fears of the dying

Feel their high, attempts to allude

Your flesh will sigh, in the midst of moisture

One sect more for the chosen kind

Can you feel it? Can you feel their high?

Feel it! Breathe evermore!

Breathe from the chosen kind, then lie back down

Feel their high and breathe evermore

End your search for the nevermore






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