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In this house of tinctures,
we wash away problems with liquid.
At these foreboding junctures,
we drown ourselves with the meek.

In this house of tinctures,
we're oppressed by absurd rules and laws.
Like bodies that are punctured,
we bleed forever and forevermore, at dawn.

In this house of tinctures,
we're healthy, but we're decaying.
Frantically finding the cures,
our beaten hope's horribly rotting.

In this house of tinctures,
blessed are the ruthlessly dead.
Driven away by the awfully pure,
despair guides to a shot to the head!

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Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.