We rise with the sun in the underworld We suffer from a graveless name We prise wide lids and wounds with lips curled Over teeth that have tasted shame
Carrion my name For those who to choose to mouth the curse A tragic serenade With Judas in my stride The Gothic halls of shame Where statues coldly hold
The needle in the eye of the hurricane The poison in the font The nail in the coffin of the profane I am the lot Maniacal the fire That weaves inside
Howitzer glare and spitfire blade Wooed by Dresden serenades Her soundtrack now a bombing raid Bored of Vaudeville God was six days sober On the night
One might see in Mina My disease But it is she who has infected me For all eternity As the sun slips the tearaway stars Into the scented scheme of night
One dark afternoon like a shadow I flew Through the rain that fell sick with lament To this house of incest for when we undressed Blasphemies against
As lonely as a poet on the Walls of Jericho Or the moon without the comfort of the stars I am loathe to know it that a man without a soul Is nothing but
I'm chaos international The writing on the wall, a Lazarus is parable A dark and sullen lullaby Whispers softly as you die, promising torments are nigh
I live to drink without oxygen From the spring of the water of life He whoever overcomes will inherit all this And I will be his God and he will be my
[instrumental]
With the snow fallen thick and bonfires are alit And shooting stars portent of rips I ascended to spur, a mere glimpse or murmur From her precious celestial
I've never been closer I've tried to understand That certain feeling Called by another sound But it's too late to hesitate We can't keep on living like
: ?Carrion my name For those who choose to mouth the curse A tragic serenade With Judas in my stride The Gothic halls of shame Where statues coldly hold
: The needle in the eye of the hurricane The poison in the font The nail in the coffin of the profane I am the lot Maniacal the fire That weaves inside
: As lonely as a poet on the wall of Jericho Or the moon without the comfort of the stars I am loathe to know it that a man without a soul Is nothing
: One might see in Mina My disease But it was She who has infected me For all eternity... As the sun slips the tearaway stars Into the scented scheme
: Howitzer glare and spitfire blade Wooed by Dresden serenades Her soundtrack now a bombing raid Bored of vaudeville God was six days sober On the night
: I?m chaos international The writing on the wall A Lazarus in parable A dark and sullen lullaby Whispered softly as you die Promising torments are