When you raise your head, can you smell the roses burning?
In the garden we suffer
When you close your eyes, can you hear the angels shrieking?
In the garden we suffer
When you lie asleep, can you feel the scalpels spiraling?
In the garden we suffer, but remember that we were never forced there
Together, hand in hand, head by head, the procession of fools
Icon of fatalism
Rite of the damned
One more rhythm from the owl’s heart before we all die
When you follow the center path, you will live black utopia