Текст песни Goodbye to Butterflies - Vore Complex

This graffiti scrawled like scabies
On your scalded walls of skull
Pervert brains scraped dry
Screwed down so dull
With empathy culled
Real laughter convoluted
Hold up greasy hands to grab some
Praise from the polluted

More vulture voyeur words selected
Languid leeches giving head
Craven papers spitting carnage
Sold mouths spewing fear and dread
Fed it
Led along
And battered
Mired memories scab and itch
Wombs rot whispers in the wastelands
Silent violent visions twitch

A lame lethargic litany
To mask malignant fear
Pent up poisons flowing through
This ape-state
Rough-refined
Blue tint on the cheap glass of each eye reflecting tears
Creasing cash a cover for each soul-sad shattered mind

A callous
Stranded
Self-fulfilling prophecy of pain
Insubstantial or unclean
You never say just what you mean
Each willing bastard deceit siphons out the every gain
Taking up the pages in the book of in-betweens

Souring swarms of locusts
Smiles like stalactites
And butcher blades
Compassion out of focus
Marching in this stale parade
Shattered gestures
Sutured gazes
Say goodbye to butterflies
Bloated hopes and hate-born horrors
Count the hours creeping by

All scrambled parodies of people
With flies and maggot faith in filth
Addict eyes still scanning
For one clean dream programmed siren sylph
Tainted by self-trauma
Bleached love blotting out belief
Lashed up light re-forms in lesions
In the gutters ground by grief
In the gutters ground by grief

Mocking morbid minefield
Where the innocent are led
Passion pounded into dust
Extinguishes your flames
Pleasure veins bled dead
Scab-mask skin shed
Blocked brains
Insane
Cynic dreams swirl down the drain

Pity swarmed in locusts
Smiles like stalactites
And butcher blades
Compassion out of focus
Marching in this stale parade
Shattered gestures
Sutured gazes
Say goodbye to butterflies
Bloated hopes and hate-born horrors
Count the hours creeping by

Pity swarmed in locusts
Smiles like stalactites
And butcher blades
Compassion out of focus
Marching in this stale parade
All so pure yet so contrived
Say goodbye to butterflies
No time left to wonder why
One more good thing dies