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Bow down to the Pyrrhic survivor spoiled by hypothermia, rotting teeth and brackish humours. I was once upon a time and I still don't remember. There was dirt on the lens, but if you must know, ask the flesh. Conditions elicited the responses. Conditions programmed the subconscious. But mind the quills. I bathe the flashing of fireflies in solvents. It helps with tics. Vaguely recalling buried fears of large men before vice mauls the body to keep the conscious encased in glass. Washed clean in artificial dopamine, non est tanti. Conditions elicited the responses. Conditions programmed the subconscious. Conditioned responses became toxic. These quills nailed shut my coffin.

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from Captain Three Leg / DSM, released February 25, 2016

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