Слова:
Wright Shannon Dyed In The Wool

There goes your body in a box That is all i have left Now this odor lines my shaking bed There's no order to you Come with me you dirty wretch

There?s no cure so why should i care You have fled into this blackness In this sling i must contain You use your force To comfort my trembling hands

There goes your body in a box That is all i have left Now this odor lines my shaking bed There?s no order to you Come with me you dirty wretch

Come let?s probe these blackened eyes Come let?s smear this spectacle Come let?s slam on the light This must soon be revised Hinterland, i shall

Why is this delight Excused as nothing? Is this the vigor A vast decay? This ugly state I shall not answer This nausea I delve to slain This

You fiend, you friend, you confidant You hold me against my will I scurry and scant this hectic step You climb adrift this boorish racket This wire

There goes your mother and her plague What a terrible display Of a charcoaled tongue That wouldn?t lend a hand Though this dead was a thoughtless