Turn the lights down low And bolt the door up Future is coming Future rising up Whoa, shotgun blast, a demon piece of lead With both eyes open I wait
Two thousand fattened years like maniacs Have despoiled our common grave Now what necrophagous Second Coming backs From the cradle to enslave? Sickle
And I often sigh I often wonder why I'm still here and I still cry And I often cry I often spill a tear Over those not here But still they are so near
Oversættelse: Cradle Of Filth. Fra vugge til slavebinde.
Oversættelse: Cradle Of Filth. Fra vugge til slavebinde (Under Mars regel Mix).
: Two thousand fattened years like maniacs Have despoiled our common grave Now what necrophagous Second Coming backs From the cradle to enslave? Sickle
: [by Anathema] And I often sigh I often wonder why I'm still here and I still cry And I often cry I often spill a tear Over those not here But still
thy dark command Over the peaks framing tapestries Of thick forest, dusk has filled With Lucifugous kisses enwreathed in mist Creeping like violations from
rime From beyond enter the horror Of a dark and hideous nature The fall of man is now at hand Awakened from an ancient slumber The immortal ones
: [by The Misfits] Turn the lights down low And close the door, oh Future is coming Future risin' Shotgun blast, a demon piece of lead With both eyes
perfect hell Under red leaves bleeding Over scaled chateau we fell To demonocracy Where neither Adam or Eve Conceived of such iniquities From pleasure
