The Angel South of Naz-Tech Falls

Little fingertips breathing death loose
Lingering up & down the walls of protection from the hot haze
That’s outside, that’s outside of the house
Roasting everything to feel as if all around has been cooked
At 800 degrees that burnt everything & everyone alive
Dash all trace of presents in a rocket flash of erasing

Giving a call to…
The angel south of Naz-Tech Falls
Who could do… could do black magic
Raising the dead… raising the dead from their graves
Following the angel south of Naz-Tech Falls
Lead us all to a pitfall that has grips breaking gravity
To no longer have gravity… having to have gravity
Gravity is now an urban ledged
The sky you can now fall into
Gravity doesn’t have your company anymore
Nor does it have oxygen

{Sir. Love Coffin}