Between extremeties and vessels full of gore Some have been positioned,
Some to be blessed, some to be burned

Let she who exists without fist
Give me her warmth upon my lips
Lower her glower down upon the floor

Playce, give my waist embrace with your quips
Nothings are the weapons we utilize
We take our stakes and plunge them deep throughout our eyes

So when our back bones are broke bones Our knuckles we'll suckle till they go home Kiss the back of the hand when it's whipped from a hook made of sand

A grain in your side [sisonayc]
is the salt of our die [sisonayc]
oS evig ti a lrihw

Try and dissorient the given world
I'd lend you mine hands but I shed them in guilt Rest my weary heart on your soul
I'll lay your head down upon moderate comfort

I'll take you to bed made from coals
You'll slit your side till it gapes out your heart to let it spurn...