Out of the way there is a quiet place

Where there' s no skin to scar

And there' s no time to waste

Full of emptiness I cannot touch the bottom

Lines on her face falling in her autumn



With her while she withers

Away



In a mangel-wurzel for the cattle

Washing for the battle hymn to hurry up

and hold on

Slaughter is to you a manicure her nails

on impaled palms

Springing out of this flesh stirs a life at the bottom



With her while she withers

Away

With her while she withers

Away