| You’re alone in a blacked-out room, bound feet pressed to the floor
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| On your own, been attacked, but soon long teeth, less lack of gore
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| Drug of choice taken minutes before hooded men walked through your door
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| Quiet voice, clicking latch, that score’s settled quick but you need more
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| You’re alone in a white-lit hall, bloodied hands clutch torn-up meat
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| Monotone humming, bright, spit pooled round stance cut, short of sleep
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| Stagger up to the brushed steel door, tear the whole thing off the wall
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| Dagger fangs, at a hush, still bored, bared soul: «I'll kill you all»
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| Now the fast’s in the past, and at last you can eat your fill at will
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| Singing on and on and on and on
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| This song’s the one you’ll never write down
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| And you won’t remember it when you wake up on a concrete floor among the
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| dismembered
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| Not right or natural
|
| A factual reality, a chemical ability to kill
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| You’re alone in a blacked out room keeping dark thoughts from your brain
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| Ringing phone, gin and crack festooned on the floor to keep you sane
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| You await for the mutation to approach and end your life
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| All of this just a ruse built up, just a joke to end sore spite
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| Now the fast’s in the past and at last gotta eat your fill at will
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| Hands, feet, heart, meat, repeat, no feat, keep up on kills
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| Hot breath on your neck, cold sweats gonna end your sorry life
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| Singing on and on and on and on
|
| This song’s the one you’ll never write down
|
| And you won’t remember it when you wake up on a concrete floor among the
|
| dismembered
|
| Not right or natural
|
| A factual reality, a chemical ability to kill
|
| It’s not natural, no
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| The actual ability to kill |