This masquerade is a massacre. Another stained-glass serenade. These halos hang over our heads like vultures circle their prey. Your hands are washed white but your eyes are the darkest I've seen. Your hands are washed white. Foul deeds will rise like ghosts of gods through the steeples. Foul deeds will rise like smoke and soot from the stacks. Foul deeds will rise. Heracy fills our lungs as we breath it. Foul deeds will rise like the incense that burns. You're running this race, but you've been running the wrong way. Dark shepherds have led their sheep astray. They demonize, rationalize, for what? For who? Foul deeds will rise like ghosts of gods through the steeples. Foul deeds will rise like smoke and soot from the stacks. Foul deeds will rise. Heracy fills our lungs as we breath it. Foul deeds will rise like the incense that burns. Call the choir to light the pyre. Call the choir to light the fires. Your hands are washed white but your eyes are the darkest I've seen. Your hands are washed white but this place smells of deceit. This burning fire will never be enough to quench your blood-lust.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
