The Futile Passion
(words & music: Barthold)
In the gallery of lost hopes
We stand as mortal shells
In this futile passion
Let the whorish smile seduce you
In this sickness we all carry
Let the insects crawl you through
On this sweet and sickly day
My soiled hands dig in the mould
Where all beauty lies rotting
In the gallery of lost hopes
You pass between my memories
As morality dies in my heart
Let the whorish smile seduce you
On this sweet and sickly day
White sheets drenched
With bodily fluids that dry on my skin
Experience the infection I bring
I cling to you in fever and lay myself into your sea
And let the nausea wash through me