March on Onto the blood-red pastures Just pave your glistening demise
Lest you be drowned with wealth or joy Let the memories take the life out of you Let them be all you can think upon Make you beg for my hands around your throat Your Throat
I'll press until the wind stops blowing Bear my teeth into a snarl Asphyxiation steals your vision Last thing you'll see is my smile
On march the saints with their pure white shirts On march the saints with their death black ties On march the saintsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
