[Lyrics: Ole Alexander Myrholt]
[Music: Tony Eugene Tunheim]
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 l*** 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 f****** cigarette
She bestow me the poet's beauty of phrase, oh, I e********...
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 f****** 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 l*** 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 f****** cigarette
She bestow me the poet's beauty of phrase, oh, I e********...
[Music: Tony Eugene Tunheim]
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 l*** 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 f****** cigarette
She bestow me the poet's beauty of phrase, oh, I e********...
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 f****** 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 l*** 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 f****** cigarette
She bestow me the poet's beauty of phrase, oh, I e********...