Jogging down the square
Bringing all the chairs
It's the must
Slicking down the spirit
with the most constricted feeling
It's the least they can do
Holy hell what a crime, they sit there for a while
Thinking about destruction
Meeting four to nine
Bringing all the wine
It's the lust
Stock them in the den
Like some flock of hen
They're disputably prone to electric chilling
Shocks
Learn to appreciate holding what
You initiate
Head against the ground detached
from what will never be found
Certified to say everythings okay
It's the must
Sword against the neck
Holy hell
Purified
Holy, holy, holy, holy hell
Fallenheim will miss you
Maybe even kiss you
It's the lust
A knife in the throat
They're planning to float
on the blood on the stones with some
chained-up rope
And heavenly callings from every angel falling
down the muddy, slippery golden stair
Simplified by lives
A murder compares with the claws of a bear
going in and out of care
Decipher whats been read when they cut your tiny head into two bloody pieces
Holding on to hope
Hanging from the stiff rope
Calmly you may ask could I maybe have my daughter on the stage
The only thing I ask for is a hug and a flask filled with rum
Surfing on the flood where every memory should
vaporize any second now
Every head of nearly hundred dead will shine
in the gazing sun
Welcome
To the golden city
And while you're here
We may aswell fear the burried
Detour
Just leave
The golden city
Rash decisions and despair
Could they understand the burried?

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