Old friend says he's started to decay
He's gone in immediate time
And i've seen it, seeping through my rites,
Ending up in the saints' discards
Expansion of my mansion
Retribution of a racing blight
Buy me, use me
Any place where i ran out of time
All friends seem to spark and fade away
New rites to call upon the gods
Often when they slide and try to break
I'm met by convenient doubts
Exposure of my features
Retribution of an aging child
We pry, we preen
On the ledges of iridescent shrines