Rostrum of Bells

I'm wed with the glottal flex
Of my frankensleeping tabledance
In and out with the birth squeezing
Demiurge pats my open desk and closes me
Like she wifed my swollen labor scheme

False birth
Rips, holes
It rips my holes

I slept on the table as bed
Worlds swirling in and out of me
Heroes collapsing in non-light
Every end was filled with pillared bells
We would have them unhonored with our safety

And it still rung

Bees sting my balance
And circle their goal

False birth
Rips, holes
It rips my holes

The reason is
The beast doesn't quench
It does look for it
It does feel for one
But it comes and it leaves
I saw them lifting their hands
In the motion
In the sequence
They don't know how to spell the names
When they storm in their traps
Of buttery, battery nails
I pull them down in the sequence

Their hands worn with scars
And scabs of medicine
Filthy, I sought the virgo motor...

(So breaks the string
I was doing so good...)