In my little black dress I have come to confess; that defiance is not what it seems
I am covered in dirt and my fingers they hurt; from the women I've tried to appease
I am soothing my soul with indulgence and gold; I will bury my face in your loins
I will master this dance with my c*** in your hands; there's a slot in my back for the coins
There's a little black man in the palm of my hand, who keeps saying that fire will come
I have wandered this earth from the time of my birth, so my legs they are starting to numb
In the heart of my soul I will make me a hole; just to marvel when evil comes out
Let my silence convey all the things I can't say, you can salvage my s** with your mouth
In my little black dress I have come to confess; that defiance is not what it seems
My devotion is dead like the thoughts in my head; are we searching for omens to see?
Every moment of fate is determined by hate, please bestow me a reason to kill
There's a little white man in the palm of my hand, who keeps saying to do what thou wilt
I put out I put in, it's my cardinal sin, please enjoy throwing pearls before swine
What we build always fall; there is nothing at all, that will last till the ending of time
Only carnage makes sense, let the madness commence, let's make demons and gods out of men
Can compassion survive when we cease to comply, with the concept of death as the end?
I am covered in dirt and my fingers they hurt; from the women I've tried to appease
I am soothing my soul with indulgence and gold; I will bury my face in your loins
I will master this dance with my c*** in your hands; there's a slot in my back for the coins
There's a little black man in the palm of my hand, who keeps saying that fire will come
I have wandered this earth from the time of my birth, so my legs they are starting to numb
In the heart of my soul I will make me a hole; just to marvel when evil comes out
Let my silence convey all the things I can't say, you can salvage my s** with your mouth
In my little black dress I have come to confess; that defiance is not what it seems
My devotion is dead like the thoughts in my head; are we searching for omens to see?
Every moment of fate is determined by hate, please bestow me a reason to kill
There's a little white man in the palm of my hand, who keeps saying to do what thou wilt
I put out I put in, it's my cardinal sin, please enjoy throwing pearls before swine
What we build always fall; there is nothing at all, that will last till the ending of time
Only carnage makes sense, let the madness commence, let's make demons and gods out of men
Can compassion survive when we cease to comply, with the concept of death as the end?