Album: other songs

The Mortician Flame

Hunter of tears, relative pain
Half of this world is dark with the stain
The stain of unknowing, the dead flower buds
On smiling lips is innocent blood, oh yeah
The corpse of your god can only rot and grow old
Now promise me you'll kill me before I get old
I hear you on the telephone moaning my doom
A cold woman will kill me in a darkened room, oh yeah
Just enough a holy tag
Seal the mind like body-bag
Take me, hold me, make me love
Bite the head off of a dove
Take your time and take your life
And you'll taste, there is no life
The head we feed is on a stick
Stir my pain with an ice-pick
Pick Pick Pick! Pick Pick Pick! Pick Pick Pick!
The chain-saw smile of the mortician shines
I still got all my fingers but somewhere I lost my mind
I can smell abortion on you, I can see through
Take the gun out of my mouth and point it at you