Spun on racks of caffeine dreams
Torn-out the rumen hangs redeemed
Pale moonstones washed in Classic streams,
Their white light on the Pallas gleamed
Harken, beg, record her choir
Beaten canticles abduced,
Prepared and spread for each desire,
Machines that scream to be abused
Her face awaits the column's presence
Risen to a swollen post
Trembling, her hands are weak
But her lips endure the most
Endlessly her body feeds
On hollow fluids white as Ghost.
Deafen him with every taunt,
Obeying hips that please her host
Stained grass with a fungus plague
(Is blight without a ritual?)
Was once prepared for trampling claws
And growls that made my memory ache
Spun on racks of selfmade dreams
Like purid moonstone washed clean
The Nephesh of my Pallas seems to
Understand this release of steam
She grabs the chains and shakes the room
Lust hungers in her eyes
And when I give her what I want
Her hunger dies
I'm cold and alone in this body of mine
I'm cold and alone in this body of mine
I'm cold and alone in this body of mine
I'm cold and alone in this body of mine
I'm cold and alone in this body of mine
I'm cold and alone in this body of mine
I'm cold and alone in this body of mine
I'm cold and alone in this body of mine.