Apollo Beneath the Whip Lyrics

The simple slave,
in sweat-soaked sheets,
aims his shackles,
and cuts off his hands.
The simple slave,
in smoggy pantheon,
aims for release,
and cuts off his head.
Apollo falls asleep behind the wheel.
A scar reopens to a wound and pleads in a whimper for infection.

And now this great dying beast,
that I've chained round my neck,
in a torrent of feathers,
a face of paper cuts.

Fragile tributaries of blood stain powder white wings, framed and catalogued for collection.

The simple slave, in fallow fields, shrugs off his burden, and falls asleep.