The Morticians 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 cold

Now promise me you'll kill me before

I get old

I hear you on the telephone,yeah moaning my doom

A cold woman will kill me in a darkened room

Just enough, a heart attack

Seal up my black body bag

Take me home and hate me, love

Bite the hand of our lost love

Take your time and take your life

Amputate with this dull knife

Heaven's meat is on the stick

Stir my pain with an ice pick

Pick, pick, pick (x3)

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

I take the gun out of my mouth and point it at you