In this rhythmic blood
All masters the novice
All cynics the obvious
Blind pioneers
No walls in the prisons
The shunned holy-visions
Are shed from perception
In patterns of tears


The imminent pleasure in every cadaver
Is twin with the soul and alive in the skin
A drip from the barrels of faculty narrows
A memory of pulses that never have been
Yeah

Open the vessels that saddle the muscular
Membranes that well in the battles of ill
Dance to the tune of the atoms parading
For now is the instant or never it will


In this rhythmic blood
All masters the novice
All cynics the obvious
Blind pioneers
No walls in the prisons
The shunned holy-visions
Are shed from perception
In patterns of tears


Identical forms in the swing of the scale
Have but fleshes and limbs and a hazardous health
The spiritual poverty rottens our effigy
Let us bleed to the rhythm of penny-less wealth
Yeah


Miniature burrows eternally clean
Through the blood, through the body, the milk and the mud
The minds we contain in these slipping machines
All float in a storm of the rhythms of blood

In this rhythmic blood
All masters the novice
All cynics the obvious
Blind pioneers
No walls in the prisons
The shunned holy-visions
Are shed from perception
In patterns of tears