Slithering. crawling into the mouths of any open trap. Cobwebs. cobwebs. Rolling in disease. Rolling in filth. Rotting form the inside, rotting from my brain. Rotting from my heart. Rotting into the, rotting into ground. Sheol, oh lonely sheol..My only home. Six feet under, isn't close enough to hell. I am scum. I am no one. Decay of my body decay of my soul I'm a walking corpse, we are all walking corpse. This rock is my home, this rock is an empty grave.
Гуру Песен