Body, tongue, touch and need In suffocating arms were these learned And from the withered teat was suckled Poison nectar
Born of curse to walk the earth Demanding service from the fallen The evil seed in perfumed bloom Chokes the host its bearer
To rut with shades That welcome weakling conqueror king In their embrace The soul seeps from rotted loins
No hope for healing Seen by eyes grown dim Still he throws himself on clustered thorns
The lonely throne of he who seeks The paltry arms of pleasure
In their beds he is compelled To lose the blood of sin containedTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
