Из альбома: This Is Exile
I am the one who is always exhuming,
I am the one you think you see in the darkest of nights,
I have yet to reconcile the thoughts within myself,
For still I am one with the dead,
Oh, sanguine blood of thy corpse,
Quench my thirst and stain my skin,
Oh, how ironic it is to feel so alive,
When you cease to exist,
I adore what I have become,
I have longed for such a love in my dreams,
And my wrath will not subside until this love is mine,
Forever I remain the hideous figure treading these unholy grounds,
For I have failed the one who has created me,
My concious is telling me to ingest the flesh of the deceased,
And with my tongue I shall lick the graves of all who will follow me,
Mark my words. They will pay,
I still am one with the dead,
And I swear to all that are dead