Gearhead

My skull was forged in the estuary of Tallsur, my skin fashioned from the hides of mountains. Amber eyes and silk speech bring character. Poison bursts from my lungs to be replaced by kindling, and these lips animate my specter. Shattered pen; steeped in sin; fire within: I grind thoughts and smoke them in locust trees, waiting out by the front patiently. Don't you know? I'm just playing this didgeri-Do you not know? Every day is a battle on the ice flows, don't you know.