Text: Spilt Milk. Other. Schadius Zenlo Darkis.

Crushing down with the weight of a god, one more strike to finish them all. Lighting candles to appease my god, one more match and I cant light them all. A boiling pot full of murdered water, a burning fire upon the twilight hour. Little demons in pointy caps, dancing madly to the beat of the chant, and they say:

Schadius Zenlo Darkis. Anger round my mind. In a moment that's godless, they repent all the time. Oh no.

No! Sorrows made of weakness, your kindness is divine. Yes your touch it pleases, but I aint waiting in line. No, I aint waiting in line.

Under mist, they lay with the dawn. Next to the ashes still smoldering on. Until the rumbles, the waking god, bring them up to put their hats back on. Gather wood and create a fire. Eat your weak, your broken and tired. Find my face and build an alter, do it again then do it all over