The Blood Ministration Does Not Praise The Sun

[Verse 1: Istasha]
Tired tracks
Spiral steps
Spinning mind blank
In the bank, I forget
Ephasize
Inner strain
In the back of the brain where they line it with eyes
Get a fucking sense don't need a
Banquet
Anguish
Apparently
They end up in
Basket
Of ashes
Light another post
Appear redacted
In caskets
Ain't no point pressed
Take notes out of guess
Don't trail
Need sweep
Cover
In it to deep
Turn black
White dress
All red
Blood weep
Seamless as curtain on my vision
Out of blindfolds
Stem from a certain dispositions
Not account for

[Verse 2: Depth Strida]
Fighting my anxiety
Ghosts are passing right through me
Splitting off reality
When was the last time I caught some good sleep
I just wanna pull the trigger, my brain feel like a disease
Always having nightmares 'cause Istasha guides me through my dreams
Wide horns
Cleric beast
Time has come to serve the feast
Blood inherit from diseased