In the All Consuming Fires of Sodom and Gomorrah We Make Love by The Last Surrealist Lyrics
[Verse 1: Chris Romans]
From these palisades you can see the dead
Alongside the stony brook where once I lay
In wretched confinement to the bastille on the shore
Dreaming to uncover the one I adore
Through bitter poetry I stab at the walls
Drag the quill through the celestial ayin with whom I am
Entwined, entranced, and altogether helpless
In the euphoria of emotion will I dance
[Verse 2: Chris Romans]
Now I use antonyms to describe the one I love
As the corrupted throne in my heart of late lies dormant with desire
To one day rejoice at the return of a master to the godless soul
All consumed in the waters of tasteless desire to be unborn
To be unborn into the arms of she who holds the key
To return to that eternal driving force in the sails
To unmake my mistakes and fix the floors of my galleon
Leading to a return to my mother’s womb again
[Verse 3: Chris Romans]
For grace to draw the first breath as if it was
The final execution born into a universe
Formless like Yahweh’s silent monologue exiting my throat as if conditioned
By an egyptian babe’s wailing cry unintelligible to all but me
As symptoms of synesthesia and at the most extreme
Embalming fluid taking the carcass into the destructive villa
Under the sea where I make love with the apostasy
And reincarnate as a weed growing in the desert, covering my old body
From these palisades you can see the dead
Alongside the stony brook where once I lay
In wretched confinement to the bastille on the shore
Dreaming to uncover the one I adore
Through bitter poetry I stab at the walls
Drag the quill through the celestial ayin with whom I am
Entwined, entranced, and altogether helpless
In the euphoria of emotion will I dance
[Verse 2: Chris Romans]
Now I use antonyms to describe the one I love
As the corrupted throne in my heart of late lies dormant with desire
To one day rejoice at the return of a master to the godless soul
All consumed in the waters of tasteless desire to be unborn
To be unborn into the arms of she who holds the key
To return to that eternal driving force in the sails
To unmake my mistakes and fix the floors of my galleon
Leading to a return to my mother’s womb again
[Verse 3: Chris Romans]
For grace to draw the first breath as if it was
The final execution born into a universe
Formless like Yahweh’s silent monologue exiting my throat as if conditioned
By an egyptian babe’s wailing cry unintelligible to all but me
As symptoms of synesthesia and at the most extreme
Embalming fluid taking the carcass into the destructive villa
Under the sea where I make love with the apostasy
And reincarnate as a weed growing in the desert, covering my old body