Song | White Worms |
Artist | Cryptopsy |
Album | The Best of Us Bleed |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Cryptopsy, Lord Worm | |
White Worms | |
It's almost night | |
The clouds are streaked with violet | |
And the moon is bright | |
Banish your innocence | |
There is no breeze | |
Disquiet lurks in silence | |
By this place of power | |
Your sins must escalate | |
What has come before | |
And recurs perpetually | |
Is on it's way | |
Cherish each atrocity | |
Woodland dark surroundings | |
Ill lit by twin beacons | |
A black car approaches | |
With two men inside it | |
With the right temptation | |
Murder needs to prompting | |
The man riding shotgun | |
Has just killed his own son | |
To nurture the white worms | |
Still and isolated | |
The woodframe house stands vacant | |
Humans that once lived here | |
Can no longer be found | |
And yet all are present | |
Well fed and ghastly white | |
In the mound of moist earth | |
That sits just by the road | |
His rigid features inexpressive | |
He flings his son's blonde head upon the heap | |
This last act earns him his metamorphosis | |
For he who built the house is at the wheel | |
To nurture the white worms | |
Darkling souls, though larval | |
With each sin can mutate | |
Into something dreadful | |
Before dawn, you'll pupate | |
And feed on innocents | |
Nourished by more like you | |
To someday haunt the aether | |
In obscene evolution | |
The house is hell | |
With it's windows all agape | |
Through these come some worms | |
And they have sprouted wings | |
Fear is forever, the objective | |
To goad the rest of humanity | |
Into acts of pervert nature | |
And bring out the worm in all of us |
zuo ci : Cryptopsy, Lord Worm | |
White Worms | |
It' s almost night | |
The clouds are streaked with violet | |
And the moon is bright | |
Banish your innocence | |
There is no breeze | |
Disquiet lurks in silence | |
By this place of power | |
Your sins must escalate | |
What has come before | |
And recurs perpetually | |
Is on it' s way | |
Cherish each atrocity | |
Woodland dark surroundings | |
Ill lit by twin beacons | |
A black car approaches | |
With two men inside it | |
With the right temptation | |
Murder needs to prompting | |
The man riding shotgun | |
Has just killed his own son | |
To nurture the white worms | |
Still and isolated | |
The woodframe house stands vacant | |
Humans that once lived here | |
Can no longer be found | |
And yet all are present | |
Well fed and ghastly white | |
In the mound of moist earth | |
That sits just by the road | |
His rigid features inexpressive | |
He flings his son' s blonde head upon the heap | |
This last act earns him his metamorphosis | |
For he who built the house is at the wheel | |
To nurture the white worms | |
Darkling souls, though larval | |
With each sin can mutate | |
Into something dreadful | |
Before dawn, you' ll pupate | |
And feed on innocents | |
Nourished by more like you | |
To someday haunt the aether | |
In obscene evolution | |
The house is hell | |
With it' s windows all agape | |
Through these come some worms | |
And they have sprouted wings | |
Fear is forever, the objective | |
To goad the rest of humanity | |
Into acts of pervert nature | |
And bring out the worm in all of us |
zuò cí : Cryptopsy, Lord Worm | |
White Worms | |
It' s almost night | |
The clouds are streaked with violet | |
And the moon is bright | |
Banish your innocence | |
There is no breeze | |
Disquiet lurks in silence | |
By this place of power | |
Your sins must escalate | |
What has come before | |
And recurs perpetually | |
Is on it' s way | |
Cherish each atrocity | |
Woodland dark surroundings | |
Ill lit by twin beacons | |
A black car approaches | |
With two men inside it | |
With the right temptation | |
Murder needs to prompting | |
The man riding shotgun | |
Has just killed his own son | |
To nurture the white worms | |
Still and isolated | |
The woodframe house stands vacant | |
Humans that once lived here | |
Can no longer be found | |
And yet all are present | |
Well fed and ghastly white | |
In the mound of moist earth | |
That sits just by the road | |
His rigid features inexpressive | |
He flings his son' s blonde head upon the heap | |
This last act earns him his metamorphosis | |
For he who built the house is at the wheel | |
To nurture the white worms | |
Darkling souls, though larval | |
With each sin can mutate | |
Into something dreadful | |
Before dawn, you' ll pupate | |
And feed on innocents | |
Nourished by more like you | |
To someday haunt the aether | |
In obscene evolution | |
The house is hell | |
With it' s windows all agape | |
Through these come some worms | |
And they have sprouted wings | |
Fear is forever, the objective | |
To goad the rest of humanity | |
Into acts of pervert nature | |
And bring out the worm in all of us |