Every flame is wicked.
A masocist illusion has flooded your brain.
A product of what\'s to come, my God what have I done? These veins are so easy to rip out.
Save a flag for your dead, collect the price for my head. There\'s a bloody bag of coins for grabs.
Every cicle is vivid.
A hardening stone has breached your heart.
A reaping to amass, cut my throat with broke glass, there\'s a price for this way.
A dream that seems to leak, there\'s anger in the seems. These are visions that just won\'t get out.
Every cut is fire and ice.
A ruined vessel has emerged.
A wish for all the luck, a head full of enough. There\'s a bump in the night.
Lash out your fears and bloody all your knuckles. There\'s a end to this road.