We hold an honorary degree in natural science For stratigraphy of rock bottom The layers were aplenty, as above, so below But mostly below The research is vast, thorough and firsthand And it's a broad array of sources For the complete guide to spiritual asshole of the world A tour in words, sounds and pictures Of the true south of nadir Through burial grounds for broken dreams and crippled souls The graves are shallow We would dig them up with our bare hands Just to rise above for a split second And see them basked in the light of a dead sun Beneath the sky of shit And then take notes Meticulously We would consume deathbed confessions Create a language of fading words For this night is without end We would compute dynamics of grief And logic of venom, and we would listen As history is written on cold skin of prophets With vulture claws soaked in rat saliva For this night is without end