There is a human slaughterhouse
|
Up on the hill, the road is red
|
And those who ignore
|
And those who pretend
|
It does not exist
|
End up in its hall
|
|
My blood goes to work
|
I hear the howl
|
|
There is a grove of bleached bones
|
Where lupins vomit children's limbs
|
Taking all their liberties
|
With parts of human anatomy
|
|
And in the hollow of a restless soul
|
Lies no remorse and no disgust
|
Every kill is clean and pure
|
Every thought is cleansed in growls, yeah
|
|
There is a grove of tortured forms
|
Where all is dark and deeds are foul
|
And those who ignore
|
And those who pretend
|
That the howl is a joke
|
Their children lie dead
|
|
My blood goes to work
|
I hear the howl
|
|
And then my blood just goes to work
|
And then I hear the howl
|
(There is a human slaughterhouse
|
Up on the hill
|
The road is red)
|
|
And then my blood just goes to work
|
And then I hear the howl
|
(And those who ignore
|
And those who pretend
|
It does not exist
|
End up in its hall)
|
|
And then my blood just goes to work
|
And then I hear the howl
|
Blood just goes to work
|
And then I hear the howl
|
Blood just goes to work
|
And then I hear the howl
|
Blood just goes to work
|
And then I hear the howl
|
And then my blood just goes to work
|
And then I hear the howl
|
|
-----------------
|
The Howl
|
| Samhain |
