Sons Of Perdition The Broadsword
Hear us sing so sweetly
From the cloistered vents and shafts
Up through the throat of the Broadsword Hotel
As smoke whispers through a chimney
As blood hums in a vein
We call out your precious name
We smell your breath
As it tumbles down hollow corridors
We ache at the music of your feet
Our faces to the grill
Cold metal on our tongues
Dreaming of your heart and lungs
We want you on our lips
And in our mouths
Running down our throats in hot gobbets of flesh
We want you clinging beneath our nails
Through the endless cruel levels of the Broadsword Hotel
Your fat smeared on eager faces
Clotted on our sexless hips
As we peel off your flesh in strips
Oh yes, yes, yes, oh yes
