The Path Of Least Persistence (Figure II) Lyrics

There goes your mother and her plague
What a terrible display
Of a charcoaled tongue
That wouldn't lend a hand
Though this dead was a thoughtless act
With alcohol intact
Quietly she seeks the day to pa*s
With those stitches that you clean
You hold your flag of your doleful plea
Now there's nothing left to recall
A fruitless title bestowed
Amongst someone you could never know
In this plight of this dismay
This thickness of your plague
She's a realm that's lost her way