of torment Yes, I crave Here with the snakes My venom dehydrates into my stream I hear your scream Sucking at my veins My final plea Enveloped in rapture
way I take the bull straight by the horns I grab the rose and I cut the thorns Cause I was born to roll tight to my dyin' days, yeah They wanna see us
of time Erased the trace and taste of bitter wines The grapes of wrath grew fat on the vine She came to him A little whip of tantrums Thrashed on velvet
swans on with hope to the grave All through Red September with skies fire-paved I begged you appear like a thorn for the holy ones Cold was my soul,
throes... Whilst drifting fogs devour All Hallows witching hour On this long, dark seance for the soul Through male volent Scylla, Charybdis graves Our
in throes... Whilst drifting fogs devour All hallows witching hour On this long, dark seance for the soul Through malevolent scylla, charybdis graves
crawls to me my frozen tears will fuse and leave my helpless eyes implied I wait and stare a view into my past I cry - left alone my grave - I can'
purpose in life To be always in motion The rose my wither But you cannot keep its smell Please put one red wild rose on my grave... [written by P.
the one that put them slugs in my moma chest Premeditated murder's always on my fuckin' mind Body outlined chalk to walk the flat line You wanna know what goes on in my
Beneath my feet are souls of thousands Crushed by one stroke of the hand of death To watch the Earth die within forgotten shadows Smear my face with
her grave Barely warm in my bed Settling for a draw tonight Puppet girl, your strings are mine Barely cold in her grave Barely warm in my bed Settling
pleasure is so strong So I do it again Nothing else seems to mind Blood on my hands and blood on my mind That's the way that I spend my days The war
through my center And I shouldn't say so, but I know that it was then, or never Push me back into a tree Bind my buttons with salt And fill my long ears
took God's only Son from the olive grove And I decry, that which is breathing tends to die Oh my Lord, his last hours of sorrow I implore my hope for
of my heart lover of my soul on your sacred head a crown of thorns pressed on your sacred head mighty king of the universe, merciful lamb for my sin
fair your garden grows With, fresh deadly roses Fresh deadly roses You laid all your lilies on the grave Of all the lonely Soldiers you left battle torn You cut their pride On
with soil and pain A cry of war, beyond the grave Trails of gore lead my way For a crimson leaf we paid In countless thorns And a new age is born
storms of my black spring grows the thorns in my black garden haunts me with your suffering in the cold of deepest water I will place the candles on
