The Scent

in the depth of my finger
encircling what's me
what seems irremissable now
could have never been or be
an alleged hope drains through
too low and squalid and sorbid
for words too vile
they dwell for none to see
but for the few who drink it's juice
its poison its puss
it's umbered too great for a sight
and it's deluded and repugnant still
drunk by who in my grasp
addiction to an idea which will not last
infatuation tempered alleged and dwell
drunk by who will never let go
an aroma so profound in sound
but sound in its method
lives in and out and through us all
we're drenched in what we never saw
saturated by now and addicted too
we'll never know quite where it came to the slew
too tawdry too hopeless and too much shame
this band it is encircling in depth the same
it grows it grows and exhausts us so
nothing so frank so clear to see
could otherwise be missed by we
but without our addiction to some
there's nothing to hold as god
no bliss to seek but the infatuation
an addiction praised high
nothing to hope and nothing to shame
what life to live without the blame
dream on, dream out dreams
sink low, sink to sink
for without an action or enemy
what's there to fight for
just empty, unforgetable hopes
lost in the depth to dwell
a profound scent will lead you to
neglect what you feel and drink
just make sure you're strong
live on live strong
eat what has been killed before it rots
or what may hang to dwell
another scent to sell
encircling your finger to tell
this vile epiphany so swell