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Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Jun 10, 2017
- Messages
- 4,123
Nimble and cold, these crawling fingers,
a shivering caress and we're dreaming in red
We made a bastard God just to gut him,
his bastard son so we could sever his head
The meek inherits nothing but filth and dust,
carve through moldering flesh and bone
We kill for the crown with poison-laced thorns,
Blood fills the gutter and pays for the throne
Our vacant eyes shimmer like puddles of petrol,
reflecting the black well that harbors our malady
We look for a dead God before our self-immolation,
returning to dust with no solace or conciliation
a shivering caress and we're dreaming in red
We made a bastard God just to gut him,
his bastard son so we could sever his head
The meek inherits nothing but filth and dust,
carve through moldering flesh and bone
We kill for the crown with poison-laced thorns,
Blood fills the gutter and pays for the throne
Our vacant eyes shimmer like puddles of petrol,
reflecting the black well that harbors our malady
We look for a dead God before our self-immolation,
returning to dust with no solace or conciliation
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