Causa Mortis

The view from the bottom
Is topped with flying white flakes
Of smooth white snow
This is the terrace
Where all the wild things grow
Your back starts to tingle
With blisters of heat
Tripled today
Aint this life so sweet?
This regime's my religion
These prayers, my faith
There's a statue that whispers
All throughout the night
A withering river, so queer
every day is a fight,
Every animal in fear
Here pleasure is pain
Immunity is faint
And what's really crazy
Is that its those above
who are saints