Torn from the teat of creation,
Pining fingers pinched spitefully,
We awoke face-down in derangement,
How simple and sensible it used to be.

Swallowed whole in dark delusion,
Savage squatters trembling.
Naked flames snake, sear, and comfort,
Shine on faces never seen.


No longer void,
But estranged from kith and kin.
This shouldn't be.
Psychogenesis!


Adaptation forged the blade
With which we disembowel ourselves.
Life had overshot its target,
Paralysing its own child.	

Psychogenesis!

Psychogenesis

All the means of feeling,
Yet withheld from human meaning.
You normalise death
By denying their lives.

By what right
Do you deny
Their interests,
While feeding
On their flesh?

Answer me, machinist!

Machinist

All music by Bottom Feeder. 
Recorded and mixed at D.D.M Studios by Devon Martindale. 
Mastered at Audiosiege Engineering by Brad Boatright. 
Artwork and design courtesy of Gabriele James.

Bottom Feeder

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