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Bhayanak Maut
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Boiled. Unwound. Filatured.
Pinned Under My Words And Burdened By Their Weight
They Give You Shadow
A Fucking Reason To Hate
Suffering Points The Way
Plays Me Against Me
Ease Through The Hide
Your Tongue Still Warm
Depth Of Truth Lies Unseen
The Stab On Your Back
A Wet Wound Of Denial
Stitches Will Rip
If I Crawl Outside
Hands Are Stained With The Blood Of Your Guilt
Enemy Of My Spoken Word
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I Bang My Head Against The Fucking Wall Of Indifference
The Quiet Cuts Through Me
Pinned Under My Words And Burdened By Their Weight
They Give You Shadow
A Fucking Reason To Hate
Dark Shapes Move On
Travel Underneath
Anger Is Stirred
Your Tongue Still Warm
Hands Are Stained With The Blood Of Your Guilt
Not One More Word Spoken, Till I Bleed Through To Hear This From You
Enemy Of My Spoken Word
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