Text: Telescopes (The). Taste. Violence.

Sick and intervening as she's hiding from the
Shrill and piercing laughter, satisfaction
Guaranteed for all who care to taste
The blade, the blade of slaughtered steel
The blade that wounds upon your naked
Skin and as she breathes her lastinge
Please don't, lay me out in red.

Forest deep and thickening bear witness to
This illing sin, of silence only shattering
To relieve the footsteps in your mall of
Heather stained final breath, you mark is
Made upon youre hallowede sickness,
Tortured soul of torment, aching sores and
Blistered wasted on your furniture of roses
Please don't, lay me out in red.

And when I'm dead and lingering inside perverted
Memories that scream the taste of violence tastes
Only of the cobwebs spun upon your shell of
Haunting don't forget the eyes of redness spill the
Veins that burst with ecstasy purveying thoughts
Of misery
Please don't lay me out at all!