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