the racket you make when you breathe smothered by the outmost relief the mighty release on a misanthropic scale ornaments of your travesty lay a sore sight to my eyes i will let you run your course greet your demise
this world was never my own with all the wrong turns taken before your idol has fallen ill within the confines of your own disease
with all the filth below it rises in macabre triumph
the ornaments of your travesty lay a sore sight to my eyes therefore i must work in your worst interest watching you build your own hearse fuel it with overkill i leave this sanctum of misery at the grave of fruitless faithTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
