Grotesque - My Ruin

You’ve got the blood on your hands

And got no right to bleed

Your innocence makes me laugh

I don’t have what you need

You search for the solution — I know you’ll never find

Your faith has left you with an imitation of Christ!

Grotesque — the lowest — common innominator!

Grotesque — the lowest — common innominator!

The spirit takes hold of your body and you cry out

Throwen into convulsions you’re foaming at the mouth!

Searching for something sacred you look

But all you find is just an imitation

Your god has left behind!

Transcending the temple all around —

Thou shalt not bear witness to those who call themselves poets —

Or worship false idols —

Never worship false idols…

What else could she do to open their eyes?

The blind shall see…

The dead shall hear…

The dead shall rise!

What?!