You 're a brutal brute who barks at the sheep clothed in your bite marks. The phrases you tattooed within me are maggots crawling into my brain. While they lay eggs made of tainted Ivory Seraph hair - it chokes my thoughts. My lungs blare into echoed rooms, yet you bound my gray lips to your rope. Where the crepuscule lies, your greed hungers for my scapegoat meat. In your aching stomach, you wonder what it 's like to be truly satisfied. Drooling over my every paralyzing movement, you gnaw the last of my vitality. My ardor chains itself inside the obscurity of your heart - waiting for a key. Now I 'm a shell who can only act when you get ill of me and vomit up my pieces. For now, I 'm the decor that brightens the emptiness of your sickened