Sons Of Perdition A Mouldering Heart
Those eyes
A pair of hunters' lamps
Fixated on their prey
Those lips
An oily hunter's trap
That hints of warm decay
Hair that sings of forest floor
Of heavy, darksome loam
Skin as pale as foreign moons
And turgid river foam
A heavy heart collapses
Under its own weight
And goes black
Pallid flesh
As of a worm
That feasts within a log
A drowning cry
That's calling out
From deep within a heavy fog
That mouth a bloody, crimson wound
That howls into the gloom
Like a sickly spider on a web
She ties her veins into a noose
A heavy heart collapses
Under its own weight
And goes black
