Tekster: Light This City. Remains Of The Gods. Hunt.

A transparent heart can't hide its blackest wish.
Even blood, pounding deceit, only makes your motives clearer.
Your scheme to conceal the desire may be wise,
but I can still see lust hidden in your famished eyes.

Now that you've shed your skin,
you suppose it's time to feed?
Well, I won't be your submissive prey;
I've tamed my share of beasts.

Now that you've shed your skin,
don't assume its time to feed.
Suspicion is the blood
that lingers on the meat.

A transparent heart can't hide its blackest wish.
Even blood, pounding deceit, only makes your motives clearer.
Your scheme to conceal the desire may be wise,
but I can still see lust hidden in your famished eyes.

Love is often gilded with a glaze of deceitful bliss to hide the darkness underneath.
It's not what it seems.
It's not what it appears to be.
Suspicion is the blood
that lingers on the meat.[x2]

The more you devour, the more you crave the taste of the life you profess to care for.
You will remain a slave to your own satisfaction
until you drain the starvation from your eyes and see that I, too, know how to kill.
I will fucking kill.