Stalking those who ripe with child Have become so naive To slake the thirst of this necrophile The bearer is to bleed
One by one they're plucked away In the shadows he retrieves Though they wake alive, can't help but cry. Never will they leave
Shrieks and howls echo through the halls, soon tombs of blood and stone Try to dig with fingers, salted tears are shed, for they're grinded to the bone
Gathered to the chamber, where air smells of rot The first one is lucky, as through the spine she's shot The second, third and fourth are strangled, ripped and hacked The final bearing witness to abortion, and grilling of the fetus
Feast Of The Stillborns From a mother's loving grip, a child is torn Feast Of The Stillborns To the practice of infanticide his life he has sworn
An infant, fresh from womb, unspoiled, to be fried No other breeds of flesh will do, only one can satisfy Onwards he strides, into the night off to find new prey Ever searching for most beautiful brides who will meet their end todayTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
