---

In the blood, in the flesh,
Runs the stench of violence,
From my father I inherited,
This godlike astral strain.

In the corner of my soul,
I yield myself to the decay.

Behold me for I am the triumph,
Within these colours of deception,
If you turn away, expect to be stained,
With the artificial red.

I drown again in the gravel piled upon me,
A sight persuaded to dismay.

The mirrors of pain shattered inside the feeble,
To bleed out the faulty icons of death eternal.

Grasping the branches,
In which I’m entrenched,
Gasping for air,
The sun blurs my view.
The mirrors of pain, reflecting the astral strain.

I admire the walls you built,
Still they are made of sand,
How could they,
How should they,
Even stand the rain.

Behind the barriers these cells grew,
Burning as incense on my skin.

Behold me for I am the vile, I am the triumph,
I am the one that will break through you,
He who won't mislead you,
Sincerely cherish me, do not turn away, do not turn away.

Grasping the branches,
In which I am entrenched,
Gasping for air,
The sun blurs my view.

In the blood, in the flesh,
Runs the stench of violence,
From my father I inherited,
This godlike astral strain.

---

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