Shield the ears of creation. Hands forever free of blood. I am the foundation on which dreams die predicting an imminent pain through delusions of decay. There will be no rest, pestilence will spread on beds of nails reinforcing wounds. Hanging on every word, I'd rather hang myself. Shield the ears of creation, fault not yourself. Hands forever free of blood, fear for me now. Are you there? You're sick, you need to come home.