Tekster: Circle Of Dead Children. A Wooden Heart Never Bleeds.

In paranoia I find genius But the ice-dreams have come
with spiritless consequence A hatchet has been hidden
between my eyes A hatchet gift-wrapped in paranoia A
wooden heart never bleeds A wooden heart never bleeds,
yet inextricable thoughts still weave Introspection
fabricated for battle No time has been wasted
Neuroleptic seconds marry electroconvulsive hours In
the cranial freezer, paranoia is the bastard and I
find genius Petrify Paralyze