Already wounded...
I wonder if I would dare to be stabbed by the thorns of virtue
Such a sight, petite and illegal...
A specimen of beauty in shapeless splendour
Haunted by her image in blank dismay,
I kiss and embrace the dreaming adventure
Of the dainty, delusive doll...
Seeping into the tunnel of reality...
The savage beast of lust mock-manly rearing its deceitful head
With 666 tattooed upon its bleeding chest
Virtue seems like a sheer waste of flesh,
I smoulder like a fucking cigarette
She bestow me the poet's beauty of phrase, oh, I ejaculate...
The vortex of addiction is out of square
There are imaginary catchwords everywhere
The vortex of temptation gently blows
The ego-dolls reap the meadows...
...of megalomania...
Profoundly wounded...
I still wonder during my frequent strolls to this rendezvous
Such a sight, so pristine...
A specimen of beauty in sheer fucking grace
Haunted by her image, spread eagle on my bed,
I need some pills to kill the pain
I need some pills to absorb the impression of the dainty, delusive doll
...sleeping into the coma of reality
The savage beast of lust mock-manly rearing its deceitful head
With 666 tattooed upon its bleeding chest
Virtue seems like a sheer waste of flesh,
I smoulder like a fucking cigarette
She bestow me the poet's beauty of phrase, oh, I ejaculate...
Writer(s): Ole Alexander Myrholt, Tony Eugene Tunheim
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