The Putrid Stench of Idle Souls

Shivers crawling down the spine in spiral waves of noise
Gnawing light upon dried out eyes vomited through a hole

The putrid stench of idle souls and withered faces beneath worn out cowls from torn out robes

Alas!
This beauty of forced tears

Those crooked fingers and the end inbetween... this wistfulness full of woodworms becomes the baton for the choire

Take the hammer numb yourself and sleep



Credits
Writer(s): Till Pöhls
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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