Child Prophets

ive got my hand in the plate
will you deliver it unto the king?
my tongue is sharp, cutting through the collection
with shattered excerpts of prophecy
we babes are speaking do not turn away
we share a leaking
its dripping into a pool on a tile floor
where you'll all seed deceit
and it will flourish
like an infection

the orgasm of this wicked sowing
will chill you to your home
and the mountains refuse to give you comfort
and the oceans wont swallow you,
no, this station will not serve you
its not crippled its cocked for self destruct
its indifferent to the human plot
look out

shaking hands wet with the washing of hands
kept with the shivers of man in a place where light is in a great demand
ma'am i can't feel your fingers in my grip
the branches are slipping away slipping away
don't let the blockade of complacency stop you on your way
it's made up of wires soldered tight to the board
feeding their greedy little beadies greedy little fingers
great greedy arms of a great greedy bastard
beast is unarmed but LIVES like a weapon
beast is unarmed but lives like a weapon
throw us overboard
we're going to have to be the tribe of exception