Something soul-less sold you it hates you
They wear the sheepskins, but you are the monster
Breathing men would kill
Lucy don't go hold me haunt me
Tinctures taunt you, cause you are the monster
Breathing men would kill
Blame me for this as you sit in your counting room
Coughing up blood just to spit in my mouth
Soon you'll be gone and the rain will wash you away
Tucked in and gagged now say your prayers
Lipstick tourniquets work
When the poison begins to take hold
And for what reward?
So the simple can suck on the rinds
