contaminated veins spill my love for you in a razorblade form these forked tongue convictions are salt poured on prelacerated wounds of extreme weathering cherub in white is love felt measure for measure or is love an appetite of blistering luster to feed the eyes of the blind if so the then i am the ultimate terminal eclipse seconds till your sunrise minutes till your grace but no one is waiting for you at heaven's gates now vultures take the place of turtle doves but i slip away deep into the depths of the impenetrable darkness to test the razor's edge