Paroles de What Does It Mean To Live In a Grotesquerie?

The beating, the shaking The thing carved in bones The thing that washed up And brings plague to your home The burning, the rusted The blower of horns The porcelain girl who must burden its scorn The thing that sleeps and moans in the choir The thing that awakens when the sun is devoured It's hate and it's sorrow, its smile bleeds when it cracks This is the martyr, the modern grotesque