Testo The Mortician Flame

Hunter of tears, relative pain Half of this world is dark with the stain The stain of unknowing the dead flower buds On smiling lips is innocent blood The corpse of your God can only rot and grow cold Now promise me you'll kill me before I get old I heard you on the telephone moaning my doom A cold woman will kill me in a darkened room The chain-saw of the mortician shines I still got all my fingers but somewhere I lost my mind I can smell abortion on you I can see thru I take the gun out of my moth and point it at you