The purple, swollen faced infant Suckling at the teat of calamity Nurture the misbegotten, sustenance of the malformed No crucifix adorn these walls No laughter resounds within these walls Where wounds are planted, blood will follow Harvest the eradication of tomorrow and all rejoice... The Cricket's Opus reaches crescendo Feverish gasps of consumption I should be feeling something, come up empty Once again No crucifix adorn these walls I long to stab the memories, to bathe in their lifesblood To bask in the Holy truth I no longer live AND THANK THE FUCKING DEVIL FOR MAKING ALL OF THIS POSSIBLE The sighing dead surround me Impatiently adverting their eyes Nervously waiting for me to join them, to lead them To bestow upon them some sense of purpose Long lost to me Sometimes I feel as if I am on the verge of clawing through Then the sun ruins everything If God has not yet forsaken us, he will now Long lost to me Hallow Human Husks Bob in the Ashen Sea Sacred pulsating altar of the Great DeformityTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
