Babylon Whores - Hand Of Glory Тексты

Ashen the world creates itself / Up the branches down the roots / Pecked at by birds / By worms gnawed / At the crossroads / By the graves among the rowan trees / Nailed white as ivory / With skulls that grin amidst the rot

For strange are these woods to fare / Stranger the fruit they bear

Oh hang me high / Upon that tree / For all the secrets to find me / As ravens
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