Stomach slashed and the rat is resurrected cold blades are yielding the higher infant flesh all is dead and speechless and he screams to burn the bitch
veil of light, Save me, We commence our battle to seek the purest souls, Burn! As we approach the light the urge for blood is strong, Feelings of burning
Traduzione: Grave. Burn Slow Me.
the Master Race And the Fatherland, Or the Chosen People And the Holy Land? Bloodshed made holy By your god of swine. Tonight we watch the children fucking burn
one Of a kind! Burn the books! Bring back unwritten law! Burn the books! Bring back unwritten law! It's just the lie living in ourselves Now burn
at us like you're something special Just because you've got the fucking hair cut. You won't last long, we'll laugh when you're gone Burn Allston to
Today I'm missing something in this small new england town. here's to you my best friend. just want to say that I miss having you around. I'm staring
So help me to understand, or at least get a grasp of what you've done To see the entire picture, foolish as I am in your eyes But still, I am blind -
I am a fire, consuming all, burning so bright With raging waves of power The dawn brings new light We march towards the horizon with our banners raised
This feeling I detect is empty and when I gaze down, I can't see my feet The ground has been taken away from me Always hinting, making the thorns grow
The sky is on fire tonight, as the stars push through the atmosphere They create a twilight around the bleeding, sinking sun It sinks in to an ocean,
Slide back the door, step in, and get ready to take your final bow Staring at a face painted white as the snow (into) Your eyes, through your soul And
I'm on the run with things to be I've got a garden hose and a color TV I've got time on my hands I've got time on my hands Nobody cares what I do I'
rays the angels of chance. death; the anti mirror of infants. Like a picture hiding beneath the digital Avalanche. When cecilia's grave cracked like a
(Fake fake flowers, fake funeral) This room is a fluorescent tomb: it's brazen bulbs mimic death's hyena croon. He pulls on her wires, she jerks to
vomit what? Burn Piano Island Burn! Coconut pupils never shut? Burn Piano Island Burn! Jigsaw babies and their bamboo stilts? Burn Piano Island Burn!
[Verse 1:] Ring out the gong again! Carve out this hymn in skin! When the party blacks out again you're still eating headlines out of the newspaper bin