My father told me of this place He told me to come here. The tales he weaved through smoke-filled black, Intricately laced with jokes and strangulation. His final words, written on the barrel of a gun Unread and, as yet, unused. They spoke of an ancient being That would descend and instill Amongst us, after he was gone. Now it dwells within and, on each day that has passed, It has become more real, More real than the steady heartbeat of his ever present ghost.
Is this hell my life forever Snake, you beckon the dark Into hell confined forever Night, you become our mask
The days of liquid thunder, the nights of unprecedented dangers, Every sip tastes a little more like the end of time, The closing of the act, My final bow to humanity. The knots begin to fray and my silence beckons, I must speak up now As the stage rots beneath me, I must describe the worlds we have weaved For their loss will be our salvation. Is this hell a world we have made for ourselves? Or is this hell our dwelling place for eternity?
Is this hell my life forever Snake, you beckon the dark Into hell confined forever Night, you become our mask
Is this hell a world we have made for ourselves? Or is this hell our dwelling place for eternity? Only the Snake can intervene
Is this hell my life forever Snake, you beckon the dark Into hell confined forever Night, you become our maskTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
