in winds and whispers I walk for peace, but I run for divorce Could we be desirable? Truth on dying lips In this case the entropy is real About face, a truth
Lord Abortion, the living dead The bonesaw on the backseat On this bitter night of giving head A sharp rear entry, an exit in red Lump in the throat, on
those eyes I'd do anything for you if they cried. Even when you curse I love to watch your lips building bad words. When ever we be talking on the phone
rooted on this spot in the desire to find solution, There's little to see and feel but the sighing and dying of our world. But for suffering we might
me with brutality, Talk to me, so you can see, Oh, what's going on, What's going on, Yeah, what's going on, Ah, what's going on, Father, father, everybody
Abortion, the living dead The bonesaw on the backseat On this bitter night of giving head A sharp rear entry, an exit in red Lump in the throat, on my
have those eyes I'd do anything for you if they cried. Even when you curse I love to watch your lips building bad words. When ever we be talking on the
on the machinery of war. If only a half of that was spent on the machinery of peace, There would be no more starvation on this planet. Yet governments
Me Lord Abortion, the living dead The bonesaw on the backseat On this bitter night of giving head A sharp rear entry, an exit in red Lump in the throat, on
spent on the machinery of war. If only a half of that was spent on the machinery of peace, There would be no more starvation on this planet. Yet governments
