Scornful of the Motives and Virtue of Others Lyrics
| Song | Scornful of the Motives and Virtue of Others |
| Artist | Shai Hulud |
| Album | That Within Blood Ill Tempered |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Fletcher, Fox, Kleisath ... | |
| let this be my writ of misanthropy to a thankless world of men who have perfected nothing. save the art of accusation. woe is he that feels compelled to pen even one word of hatred. the act is contemptible. to know i hate with the passion with which i love is a travesty. let this writ acknowledge these facts. how i miss the warmth of red blood... the color of pitch is cold and hard, and it is merciless to the tenderhearted. how i miss the strength of red blood... its susceptibility to burn jet, and the might to withstand a brutal scorching. how i have learned to wield this scorched, jet blood to the gross advantage... this blood must not go to waste. all is not yet lost. take these words of blood ill-temprered. take these words and cut deep. lacerate the soiled flesh. impact the brittle bone. and we all will bleed together. may this blood pave the way to solution. we have all been so wrong - conditioned to accept and approve of substandard communication and behavior. reason is clouding, hearts are hardening, and the result is murder. this age is grave bound, likewise its aging successors. aging, all the while, descending - developing an even more insatiable thirst for chaos. life amongst hyenas and asps under the vultures that pick at the corpses of the fallen. and man will continue to suffer unto itself until some stand to rally the fray by firm example chaos must succumb to order lest these days be numbered i cannot contribute to disarray i simply cannot relate let this be my act of defiance. let this be my refusal to fit in let this be my writ of misanthropy... |
| zuo qu : Fletcher, Fox, Kleisath ... | |
| let this be my writ of misanthropy to a thankless world of men who have perfected nothing. save the art of accusation. woe is he that feels compelled to pen even one word of hatred. the act is contemptible. to know i hate with the passion with which i love is a travesty. let this writ acknowledge these facts. how i miss the warmth of red blood... the color of pitch is cold and hard, and it is merciless to the tenderhearted. how i miss the strength of red blood... its susceptibility to burn jet, and the might to withstand a brutal scorching. how i have learned to wield this scorched, jet blood to the gross advantage... this blood must not go to waste. all is not yet lost. take these words of blood illtemprered. take these words and cut deep. lacerate the soiled flesh. impact the brittle bone. and we all will bleed together. may this blood pave the way to solution. we have all been so wrong conditioned to accept and approve of substandard communication and behavior. reason is clouding, hearts are hardening, and the result is murder. this age is grave bound, likewise its aging successors. aging, all the while, descending developing an even more insatiable thirst for chaos. life amongst hyenas and asps under the vultures that pick at the corpses of the fallen. and man will continue to suffer unto itself until some stand to rally the fray by firm example chaos must succumb to order lest these days be numbered i cannot contribute to disarray i simply cannot relate let this be my act of defiance. let this be my refusal to fit in let this be my writ of misanthropy... |
| zuò qǔ : Fletcher, Fox, Kleisath ... | |
| let this be my writ of misanthropy to a thankless world of men who have perfected nothing. save the art of accusation. woe is he that feels compelled to pen even one word of hatred. the act is contemptible. to know i hate with the passion with which i love is a travesty. let this writ acknowledge these facts. how i miss the warmth of red blood... the color of pitch is cold and hard, and it is merciless to the tenderhearted. how i miss the strength of red blood... its susceptibility to burn jet, and the might to withstand a brutal scorching. how i have learned to wield this scorched, jet blood to the gross advantage... this blood must not go to waste. all is not yet lost. take these words of blood illtemprered. take these words and cut deep. lacerate the soiled flesh. impact the brittle bone. and we all will bleed together. may this blood pave the way to solution. we have all been so wrong conditioned to accept and approve of substandard communication and behavior. reason is clouding, hearts are hardening, and the result is murder. this age is grave bound, likewise its aging successors. aging, all the while, descending developing an even more insatiable thirst for chaos. life amongst hyenas and asps under the vultures that pick at the corpses of the fallen. and man will continue to suffer unto itself until some stand to rally the fray by firm example chaos must succumb to order lest these days be numbered i cannot contribute to disarray i simply cannot relate let this be my act of defiance. let this be my refusal to fit in let this be my writ of misanthropy... |
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