In a phallic, stone tower
We rise and fly or stand knee deep in water
Skin is smooth and damp
Every time he crosses them
And there are bones in bed with that child
A figure behind the glass
Me in his mouth
The man has come and gone
Aroused my photographic memory
Orphan sons and his raw hands
(Were slammed in his face)
Like fire under whores
Insect, smiling eyes project rain
Blaze against his teeth
The luxury of tears burned my fingers
Spinning devils of snow
The luxury of tears burned my fingers
Spinning devils of snow
Oh devils must know the luxury of tears
Changing his shape, he raised his eyes
Eyes masked with green
Threw out his arms, pulled open the door
A moist, sour tongue down the silver screen
Usher in the bleak years
Through his yawning neck
I undress in his throat
A passion for dust
(Was slammed in his face)
Pull them down by the wings
A rose from my ribs
Stole back up the stairs
(And laughed in his face)
Nu ką, nemaža tikimybė, kad vistik My Dying Bride nebus Kilkim Žaibu, atšaukė beveik visus šių metų pasirodymus. Tik organizatoriai kažkaip neskuba pranešti ir toliau reklamuoja..
guess I did make my name out of my drumming, and I have the big drum sets, and I'm doing all these crazy, odd-time signatures, so, yeah, I guess drumming was very important to what made me popular.