Down The Stairs He Walks Towards What He Lusts For The Grim Art on The Wall Makes Him Want More
A Chamber Full of Hate Carpets Made of Human Limbs He Enjoys The Air He Breathes He Does No Longer Grief
Into The Halls of Pain Where Death Is The Only Art Welcome To Those With Their Torture Hearts
Fascinated By Brutal Deaths He Continues His Search Alone In The Eternal Hails of Torture He Walks Until The Gate Is Open
He Does Not Want To Turn Back He Has Found His Passion While The Flowers Rot At Winter His Mind Grows Sicker And Sicker
All The Gates of Which He Passed Is Now Sealed In Blood I Hope He's Found His World of Dreams I Enjoy The Torture Art
Down The Stairs He Walks Towards What He Lusts For The Grim Art on The Wall Makes Him Want More
A Chamber Full of Hate Carpets Made of Human Limbs He Enjoys The Air He Breathes He Does No Longer Grief
Fascinated By Brutal Deaths He Continues His Search Alone In The Eternal Hails of Torture He Walks Until The Gate Is Open
He Does Not Want To Turn Back He Has Found His Passion While The Flowers Rot At Winter His Mind Grows Sicker And Sicker Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
