They are the ones who carve your live bones into devices/They mock the mourning widows deceased. (Deceased!)
Like a fuckin’ urethra pissing blood on all they see, A morbid gash; they self infect (And I cough…)
And I cough.
Like a dying nun, Ill heads kill through love.
New pope, crematorium smoke coughs up into the sky.
Mortuary inside their mind, It makes you ponder for so long.
Thousands of years of blood and death all for what?
And I cough...