Give me lust, malice and a detached existentialist Give me rampant intellectualism to cope with all this shit Slow down, speed up Whatever takes death long enough to change my skin But when I'm gone it won't be for long till I'm back in the saddle of sin
Invisible or incapable of love I can't tell which is worse Accidents or gravity my organs, blood, bones and skin I walk were never my first All we are is inherited so fucking toss us to the pigs Its a head start to the gates of hell Am I the only one, is this loneliness? Knife, oh look folks it's a knife in my back by my own hands Let my blood edge your pool of no fucks giving Step back, devolve, and mutilate Wasted and tasted as the crows cry, damn this vulture land Everything's all eaten up, the wolves are fat, soon to be dead
Just let them lay me down Like stones that crumble Wood that rots, we are fragile A hollow shell that we create We ate the shit we hate I'm becoming what I loathe I ate myself alive, I hate the taste
We, us vultures serpentine A loaded circle of defeat We crave the buried meat So we now must eat each other Drug induced western advanced The hospital, it's for the sick So put down my brain in the burner
Wasted never tasted anything quite like this The bitter hunger to survive is why I gave in Carnage candy, oh your blood is so fucking sweet It's damned, deadly and bad for your teeth
Invisible or incapable of love I'll take which I deserve And the accident that has just occurred was sure no accident Gravity threw my weight to a blade of darkness to my grave Death can you just shed some light Of Inherited thoughts, this must be shame Knife, oh look folks there's the knife embedded in my skin Don't take it out just bury me with all the hell that I've commit Eyes sewed open to the ground, the back of my head faces the clouds Because he knows I'm looking at him, knows I'm trouble, knows I'm coming but worst of all he knows where I've been
We, us vultures serpentine A loaded circle of defeat Crave the buried meat Crave the buried meat
Give me lust, malice, detached existentialist Give me a brain burner to cope with this shit Whatever takes death long enough to change my skin When I'm gone, won't be for long, till I'm back in the saddle of sin