Текст песни Hylophobes - Fyrce Muons

It's the restaurant of his mind
Savor crime of his being
Tasting dishes of his flesh
Drinking blood as the wine
At the table sit the twelve
Son of whispers, son of mine
Like his flesh, bread will rise
Like his blood turned to wine
Special moments, special times
Out to dinner with the boys
Pass the butter, pass the time
Take a picture for the wall