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Telepathe
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Devil's Trident
Everyday dearest orchid find a way and prey and prey and prey
Behind the eye's of your sister's portrait
Wine wind and pray on the minds
Two dearest things
One man with a gun and one with an arm
It is a basic sensation, No it was a basic sensation, no it is a basic sensation
A fantasmata of her mother
Don't avoid the straightforward answers but take the cold one with the cold arms
Like a megaphone
Too painful and no harm
Maybe we have a second rate son
Superhuman, acknowledged absurd subhuman?
Provoke a frenzy in me my love, provoke a frenzy in me, provoke a frenzy in me my love
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Unconsious and screwed by all
Does one expect an afterlife?
No, I only wish for the after thrice
Hand over with the devil's trident
And paint it the orchid because we have a second rate son
He's abrupt, rude, and undone
Deism at hand
Now you know
I won't go
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