For no hope I seek, but the shroud of other dimensions. For not in the abyss I sink, but I laugh at my self-murder
Treacherous warmth of your hands touch my asexuality And I would have torn up this contract for life before my birth, But I locked in the flesh doll which was given a name.
You increase the grief, you are the window to the world of humans. I'll gain my strength and spit upon the orifice with putrid blood. And fresh skin of a child will be dressed up in the dead clothes And a tombstone will begin to smell of a maternal milk.
When a birth-mark is a seal of curse And metastasis is a foreshadowing of deliverance, I'll cleanse my blood of thy leprosy Right now or even before the sweaty agony.
So who you are, who you are? A shiver of saint name or a Babylon whore? When the yoke of a slave is male genitals And the figures of prison-keepers are crowned by wings, After having transcended the final tunnel And having attained the sulphur nature, I'll howl in your ears every full moon. Among the souls downtrodden by curses, Among the holy men choked with rottenness. I will eternally growl at your body in the white bed sheet, motherwhore I will trample down your footprints and tears. Sepulchral howl of broken heartsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
