In the pit of my stomach
There is a pit of death in my stomach. Of moths and butterflies dancing in sulfuric fires, Leaping, advancing to my heart and throat, And I bloat from this toxic gas. Upon this volcano is a halo of ash. Alas, I can smell it. I am vile, evil, rotten, For life has not forgotten, The deadly sins I have begotten. My red blood alight in blue flames, My pulse quickens as I sicken and convulse, And I spit and vomit from this pit, the dead, And most tragic of all, my Soul. So I want to gut my Body of me, To save my Spirit and set it free.