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| | ==Versions== | | ==Versions== |
| | ==Song== | | ==Song== |
| − | <youtube>0UdZ6PX4uBg</youtube>
| |
| − |
| |
| | ==Lyrics== | | ==Lyrics== |
| − | all Born Villain Lyrics:
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Hey, Cruel World... (I am among no one)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Hey, cruel world. . .
| |
| − | You don't have what it takes
| |
| − | We don't need your faith.
| |
| − | We've got fucking fate.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Hey, cruel world. . .
| |
| − | You don't have what it takes
| |
| − | We don't need your faith.
| |
| − | We've got fucking fate.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Creator
| |
| − | Preserver
| |
| − | Destroyer
| |
| − | Ask which one I am.
| |
| − | There's no drugged-out devils or
| |
| − | Square-halo angels
| |
| − | Walking among us.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I am among no one
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| − | I am among no one
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| − | I am among no one
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| − | No one
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Hey, cruel world. . .
| |
| − | You don't have what it takes
| |
| − | We don't need your faith.
| |
| − | We've got fucking fate.
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − |
| |
| − | The center of the universe
| |
| − | Cannot exist
| |
| − | When there are no,
| |
| − | No edges
| |
| − | The center of the universe
| |
| − | Cannot exist
| |
| − | When there are no,
| |
| − | No edges
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Hey, cruel world. . .
| |
| − | You don't have what it takes
| |
| − | We don't need your faith.
| |
| − | We've got fucking fate.
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Fate, fate, fate
| |
| − | Fate, fate, fate
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I am among no one
| |
| − | I am among no one
| |
| − | I am among no one
| |
| − | No one
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Hey, cruel world. . .
| |
| − | You don't have what it takes
| |
| − | We don't need your faith.
| |
| − | We've got fucking fate.
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − | Fate
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − | No Reflection
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Crushing
| |
| − | Cheating
| |
| − | Changing
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Am I deaf or dead?
| |
| − | Is this constricting construction,
| |
| − | Or just streets with rusty signs,
| |
| − | Or something violent
| |
| − | Coming?
| |
| − |
| |
| − | This will hurt you
| |
| − | Worse than me.
| |
| − | I'm weak,
| |
| − | 7 days I'm weak.
| |
| − | Don't run from me.
| |
| − | I won't bother
| |
| − | Counting 1, 2, 3…
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I don't know which me that I love
| |
| − | I've got no reflection
| |
| − | I don't know which me that I love
| |
| − | I've got no reflection
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I can show myself
| |
| − | How to make a noose.
| |
| − | A gun's cliche,
| |
| − | And a razor too.
| |
| − | I'm not a death-trip vacation
| |
| − | Vacant station,
| |
| − | Made of scars
| |
| − | And filled with my old wounds.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | This will hurt you
| |
| − | Worse than me.
| |
| − | I'm weak,
| |
| − | 7 days I'm weak.
| |
| − | Don't run from me.
| |
| − | I won't bother
| |
| − | Counting 1, 2, 3…
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I don't know which me that I love
| |
| − | I've got no reflection
| |
| − | I don't know which me that I love
| |
| − | I've got no reflection
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You…
| |
| − | You don't even want to know
| |
| − | What I'm gonna do to you
| |
| − | You don't even want to know
| |
| − | What I'm gonna do to you
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I don't know which me that I love
| |
| − | I've got no reflection
| |
| − | I don't know which me that I love
| |
| − | I've got no reflection
| |
| − | No reflection
| |
| − | No reflection
| |
| − | I've got no reflection
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Pistol Whipped (Pretty Cool)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You look so pretty
| |
| − | When you cry.
| |
| − | Don't wanna hit you
| |
| − | But the only thing,
| |
| − | Between our love is
| |
| − | (1) A bloody nose
| |
| − | (2) A busted lip
| |
| − | And
| |
| − | (3) A blackened eye
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You look so pretty
| |
| − | When you cry.
| |
| − | Don't wanna hit you
| |
| − | But the only thing,
| |
| − | Between our love is
| |
| − | (1) A bloody nose
| |
| − | (2) A busted lip
| |
| − | And
| |
| − | (3) A blackened eye
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You're a little pistol
| |
| − | And I'm fucking pistol whipped
| |
| − | You're a little pistol
| |
| − | And I'm fucking pistol whipped
| |
| − |
| |
| − | (Cock, cock, cock it)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | When I undo my belt,
| |
| − | You melt and you walk away
| |
| − | With a red, red, red welt
| |
| − | (Or so they say)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | When I undo my belt,
| |
| − | You melt and you walk away
| |
| − | With a red, red, red welt
| |
| − | (Or so they say)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You're a little pistol
| |
| − | And I'm fucking pistol whipped
| |
| − | You're a little pistol
| |
| − | And I'm fucking pistol whipped
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I wanna have your ache
| |
| − | And beat you too
| |
| − | I wanna have your ache
| |
| − | And beat you too
| |
| − | I wanna have your ache
| |
| − | And beat you too
| |
| − | I wanna have your ache
| |
| − | And beat you too
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You're a little pistol
| |
| − | And I'm fucking pistol whipped
| |
| − | You're a little pistol
| |
| − | And I'm fucking pistol whipped
| |
| − |
| |
| − | (Cock, cock, cock it)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Overneath (Badass. With the shakespeare quote and all)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | “And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
| |
| − | The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
| |
| − | Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
| |
| − | That struts and gets his hour upon the stage,
| |
| − | And then is heard no more. It is a tale
| |
| − | Told by and idiot, full of sound and fury,
| |
| − | Signifying nothing."
| |
| − | - William Shakespeare
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Stare into my Kodak Rome
| |
| − | Jack-Hammer ice eyes
| |
| − | I never thought you'd see
| |
| − | The asphalt crack, crack, crack
| |
| − | Like black eggshell
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Don't ever say I never warned
| |
| − | You from the start
| |
| − | Don't ever say I never warned
| |
| − | You from the start
| |
| − | You're not a shovel
| |
| − | And I'm not your dirt
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Is there anyway to unswallow
| |
| − | My pride?
| |
| − | Can I fuck myself down?
| |
| − | Why die.
| |
| − | When you can kill the father?
| |
| − | Dad is missing an 'e'
| |
| − |
| |
| − | No Macbeth
| |
| − | Confessed Oedipus,
| |
| − | No longer present tense
| |
| − | No Macbeth
| |
| − | Confessed Oedipus,
| |
| − | No longer present tense
| |
| − |
| |
| − | No no no no no reason
| |
| − | No no no no no reason
| |
| − | No no no no no reason
| |
| − |
| |
| − | High and overneath
| |
| − | High and overneath
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I won't regret
| |
| − | Letting you live
| |
| − | Even if you forgot
| |
| − | What you never saved me from
| |
| − | So I say 'whatever'
| |
| − | Or fornever
| |
| − |
| |
| − | For for for for for fornever
| |
| − | For for for for for fornever
| |
| − | for for for for for fornever
| |
| − | 'Whatever'
| |
| − |
| |
| − | The Rape of Persephone
| |
| − | Was choreographed by all the wrong Greeks
| |
| − | The Rape of Persephone
| |
| − | Was a marketing scheme
| |
| − | Rape rape rape per so phony
| |
| − | Rape rape rape per so phony
| |
| − | Rape rape rape per so phony
| |
| − | Rape rape rape per so phony
| |
| − |
| |
| − | High and overneath
| |
| − | High and overneath
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| − |
| |
| − | Overneath
| |
| − | Overneath
| |
| − | Overblown
| |
| − | Unbeloved
| |
| − | Cannot be low
| |
| − | Overneath
| |
| − | Overneath
| |
| − | Overblown
| |
| − | Unbeloved
| |
| − | Cannot be low
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| − |
| |
| − | From the top of my lungs
| |
| − | To the bottom of my heart
| |
| − | I scream
| |
| − | At the chasm in between
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| − | And the path of misery
| |
| − | From the top of my lungs
| |
| − | To the bottom of my heart
| |
| − | I scream
| |
| − | At the chasm in between
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| − | And the path of misery
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| − |
| |
| − | High and overneath
| |
| − | High and overneath
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| − |
| |
| − | No no no no no reason
| |
| − | No no no no no reason
| |
| − | No no no no no reason
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| − |
| |
| − | Slo-Mo-Tion (Just. Fucking. Cool. Very GOAG)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You've got your
| |
| − | Hell's teeth
| |
| − | Smiling at you.
| |
| − | It keeps your brain safe,
| |
| − | As it all eat at your face. . .
| |
| − |
| |
| − | And don't worry
| |
| − | We'll 'blur it out'
| |
| − | And no one
| |
| − | Ever will know,
| |
| − | Oh
| |
| − | No, oh oh oh
| |
| − |
| |
| − | This is my beautiful show
| |
| − | And everything is hot
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| − | in slo-motion
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| − | This is my beautiful show
| |
| − | And everything is shot
| |
| − | in slo-motion
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| − |
| |
| − | SLO-MO-TION
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Pump in the laughter
| |
| − | Of dead-audience applause
| |
| − | And TEENAGE RAPE candidates
| |
| − | I think we got ourselves
| |
| − | A 'real hit'
| |
| − | Don't we wish
| |
| − | That we had something
| |
| − | More than
| |
| − | Hate amber panic
| |
| − | And panic
| |
| − | Morbid panic
| |
| − | Hate and morbid panic
| |
| − |
| |
| − | This is my beautiful show
| |
| − | And everything is hot
| |
| − | in slo-motion
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| − | This is my beautiful show
| |
| − | And everything is shot
| |
| − | in slo-motion
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| − |
| |
| − | SLO-MO-TION
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| − |
| |
| − | I'm the host with Vaseline
| |
| − | I hide behind bulletproof glass
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| − | And I can fell your tits
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| − | With my brand new camera
| |
| − | (Equipped with a flash)
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| − | Fast-food-nude
| |
| − | I hate you all
| |
| − | But somehow
| |
| − | You find me. . .
| |
| − | Incredibly charming
| |
| − |
| |
| − | This is my beautiful show
| |
| − | And everything is hot
| |
| − | in slo-motion
| |
| − | This is my beautiful show
| |
| − | And everything is shot
| |
| − | in slo-motion
| |
| − |
| |
| − | SLO-MO-TION
| |
| − | (Incredibly charming)
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| − | SLO-MO-TION
| |
| − | (Incredibly charming)
| |
| − |
| |
| − | This is my beautiful show
| |
| − | And everything is hot
| |
| − | in slo-motion
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| − |
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| − | The Gardener (Obsessively fetishize)
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| − |
| |
| − | I'm not man enough to be human
| |
| − | But I'm trying to fit in
| |
| − | And I'm learning to fake it
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Don't ever meet their friends
| |
| − | It tells you too much
| |
| − | Or not enough
| |
| − | Or worse
| |
| − | Exactly the wrong thing
| |
| − | Every nuance
| |
| − | Every detail
| |
| − | Every movement
| |
| − | Every smell
| |
| − | Sound
| |
| − | Phrase
| |
| − | The way she laughs
| |
| − | These are the things that you obsessively fetishize
| |
| − | Or make yourself grow to love
| |
| − | But you are supposed to be done growing
| |
| − | She is still growing
| |
| − | Its like a garden with two flowers
| |
| − | One just blocking and casting a shadow
| |
| − | Just like yours
| |
| − | Then it becomes a struggle
| |
| − | Of sunlight
| |
| − | Or rain
| |
| − | Or weeds
| |
| − | She and every she
| |
| − | Is doomed to be your idea of her
| |
| − | She and every she
| |
| − | Is doomed to be your idea of her
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I'm not man enough to be human
| |
| − | But I'm trying to fit in
| |
| − | And I'm learning to fake it
| |
| − | Fa fa fa fa fake it
| |
| − | Fa fa fa fa fake it
| |
| − | Ffffffffffffffake it
| |
| − |
| |
| − | But worse so,
| |
| − | Back to the point
| |
| − | You are no longer the flower
| |
| − | And the sun
| |
| − | And most importantly the garden
| |
| − | Or the gardener
| |
| − | A muse
| |
| − | Your amusement
| |
| − | I am used
| |
| − | Its all ruined if you meet their friends
| |
| − |
| |
| − | She and every she
| |
| − | Is doomed to be your idea of her
| |
| − | I'm not man enough to be human
| |
| − | But I'm trying to fit in
| |
| − | And I'm learning to fake it
| |
| − | Fa fa fa fa fake it
| |
| − | Fa fa fa fa fake it
| |
| − | Ffffffffffffffake it
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You never wanted
| |
| − | To share
| |
| − | Your concept of your creation
| |
| − | With any other gods or worshippers
| |
| − | Your book isn't burned
| |
| − | It was never written
| |
| − | Your book isn't burned
| |
| − | It was never written
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I'm not man enough to be human
| |
| − | But I'm trying to fit in
| |
| − | And I'm learning to fake it
| |
| − | Fa fa fa fa fake it
| |
| − | Fa fa fa fa fake it
| |
| − | Ffffffffffffffake it
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − | The Flowers of Evil (A long song, but not many lyrics. More instrumentals? Very abstract)
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − | The day they covered us in the dirt
| |
| − | Like stars in the ground
| |
| − | That will grow into dead flowers
| |
| − | The day they covered us in the dirt
| |
| − | Like stars in the ground
| |
| − | That will grow into dead flowers
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Your body's on me
| |
| − | Like sleepless spiders.
| |
| − | Your touch is so empty
| |
| − | Your touch is so empty
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Your body's on me
| |
| − | Like sleepless spiders.
| |
| − | Your touch is so empty
| |
| − | Your touch is so empty
| |
| − | Your touch is so empty
| |
| − | Your touch is so empty
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I've been running
| |
| − | From the bloodless
| |
| − | For fear of exile
| |
| − | For all of my sorceries
| |
| − | That shun the light
| |
| − | I've been running
| |
| − | From the bloodless
| |
| − | For fear of exile
| |
| − | For all of my sorceries
| |
| − | That shun the light
| |
| − |
| |
| − | The day they covered us in the dirt
| |
| − | Like stars in the ground
| |
| − | That will grow into dead flowers
| |
| − | The day they covered us in the dirt
| |
| − | Like stars in the ground
| |
| − | That will grow into dead flowers
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I've been running
| |
| − | From the bloodless
| |
| − | For fear of exile
| |
| − | For all of my sorceries
| |
| − | That shun the light
| |
| − | I've been running
| |
| − | From the bloodless
| |
| − | For fear of exile
| |
| − | For all of my sorceries
| |
| − | That shun the light
| |
| − | Light
| |
| − | Light
| |
| − | Light
| |
| − | Light
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Children of Cain (Yes, he says fucking Children of Cain in the chorus. Awesome. This is the song all the triptych worshippers have been wanting)
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Sacrifice won't suffice
| |
| − | Resurrection needs your death
| |
| − | To happen twice
| |
| − | Fall on my heart
| |
| − | And burn and forge
| |
| − | Your tortured black-smitten
| |
| − | Into the sharpest, fucking sword
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Don't assume that I'm always with you
| |
| − | It's just where my mortal body happens to be
| |
| − |
| |
| − | No Sineater to slay
| |
| − | Us Children of Cain
| |
| − | Watching monkey suicide
| |
| − | Sunday AIDS and church wine wash it away
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Christ consciousness
| |
| − | Manifest to the Golden Ratio
| |
| − | 5 or 500 year ago
| |
| − | We were 15 foot high
| |
| − | And to die
| |
| − | Was a Bardot Bridge(t)
| |
| − | We never thought we'd cross
| |
| − | To burn down behind and below
| |
| − |
| |
| − | No Sineater to slay
| |
| − | Us Children of Cain
| |
| − | Watching monkey suicide
| |
| − | Sunday AIDS and church wine wash it away
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Don't assume that I'm always with you
| |
| − | It's just where my mortal body happens to be
| |
| − |
| |
| − | So take your little black book
| |
| − | I see the way that you look in to it
| |
| − | I'll eat it and I'll cut my tongue
| |
| − | And all the pages you spread,
| |
| − | Sweet as honey you said
| |
| − | But I'm choking on your bitter stories
| |
| − |
| |
| − | No Sineater to slay
| |
| − | Us Children of Cain
| |
| − | Watching monkey suicide
| |
| − | Sunday AIDS and church wine wash it away
| |
| − | Sunday AIDS and church wine wash it away
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Disengaged (404 ERROR FACE)
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − | And I could look into the
| |
| − | Crowded morgue of mistakes
| |
| − | The sun stopped its smile
| |
| − | And frowned on me too
| |
| − | My re-built/re-mastered heart
| |
| − | Is smashed into its faces
| |
| − | And its face is confused
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I cut my throat in two
| |
| − | I said "sorry" to you,
| |
| − | For begin a fool
| |
| − | But I didn't forgiveness.
| |
| − | It was regret,
| |
| − | Not an apology
| |
| − | It was regret
| |
| − | Regret
| |
| − | Regret
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Disengaged
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Disengaged
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You're with me, against me
| |
| − | But the only thing forever is hate
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I forgot what I saw
| |
| − | Before and after that day
| |
| − | I'd trade all I was worth
| |
| − | To make myself in to
| |
| − | The handsomest gun
| |
| − | And put the diamond bullet
| |
| − | into your
| |
| − | 404 ERROR face
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Disengaged
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Disengaged
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You're with me, against me
| |
| − | But the only thing forever is hate
| |
| − |
| |
| − | And I'm an event,
| |
| − | Everybody knows
| |
| − | You decide if you can live
| |
| − | Or you decide to let someone
| |
| − | Decide for you
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Disengaged
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Dis
| |
| − | Disengaged
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You're with me, against me
| |
| − | But the only thing forever is hate
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Lay Down you prick (Chorus made me cum just reading it)
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I'm not of this world
| |
| − | You're not in this heart
| |
| − | This isn't in me
| |
| − | I'm not of this world
| |
| − | You're no in this heart
| |
| − | This isn't in me
| |
| − | To open the box
| |
| − | You can't shoot the lock
| |
| − | I hide everything
| |
| − | So you can't see
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Wanna fight?
| |
| − | Wanna fuck?
| |
| − | Wanna die?
| |
| − | Try your luck. . .
| |
| − | Lay down your goddamn arms
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Wanna fight?
| |
| − | Wanna fuck?
| |
| − | Wanna die?
| |
| − | Try your luck. . .
| |
| − | Lay down your goddamn arms
| |
| − |
| |
| − | There isn't a key,
| |
| − | You can use one me
| |
| − | There isn't a key,
| |
| − | So lay down your arms
| |
| − | Arms
| |
| − | Arms
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You're a book
| |
| − | Every page is written
| |
| − | In words
| |
| − | I cannot read
| |
| − |
| |
| − | So I burn
| |
| − | Gotta burn
| |
| − | Gotta burn
| |
| − | Gotta burn it
| |
| − |
| |
| − | So I burn
| |
| − | Gotta burn
| |
| − | Gotta burn
| |
| − | Gotta burn it
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Wanna fight?
| |
| − | Wanna fuck?
| |
| − | Wanna die?
| |
| − | Try your luck. . .
| |
| − | Lay down your goddamn arms
| |
| − |
| |
| − | There isn't a key,
| |
| − | You can use one me
| |
| − | There isn't a key,
| |
| − | So lay down your arms
| |
| − |
| |
| − | There isn't a key,
| |
| − | You can use one me
| |
| − | There isn't a key,
| |
| − | So lay down your arms
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Arms
| |
| − | Arms
| |
| − |
| |
| − | So I burn
| |
| − | Gotta burn
| |
| − | Gotta burn
| |
| − | Gotta burn it
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Murderers are getting shit on my pants (This song better have some good instrumentals and justify the title being so long. I think song is basically worshipped murderers before he kills a loved one)
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Do you always
| |
| − | Have to hire actors,
| |
| − | To play the devils
| |
| − | That talk me
| |
| − | Out of my
| |
| − | Sui-sites?
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You're just
| |
| − | A ring tone,
| |
| − | That happens when
| |
| − | You get sick enough
| |
| − | To call the one
| |
| − | With bullet holes,
| |
| − | Bullet holes for eyes
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Fall on your knees
| |
| − | I hear the horrid voices
| |
| − | Of someone else's angels
| |
| − | Fall on your knees
| |
| − | I hear the horrid voices
| |
| − | Of someone else's angels
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I broke open the box
| |
| − | When I spoke the spell
| |
| − | I became
| |
| − | An entrance wound
| |
| − | To your bedroom grave,
| |
| − | and I was paid
| |
| − | With the shadow of consensual rape
| |
| − | Your ransom note
| |
| − | Is quoted by,
| |
| − | Your death and
| |
| − | Birth certificates
| |
| − | And all of your love,
| |
| − | And all of your love letters
| |
| − | Read just like my will
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Fall on your knees
| |
| − | I hear the horrid voices
| |
| − | Of someone else's angels
| |
| − | Fall on your knees
| |
| − | I hear the horrid voices
| |
| − | Of someone else's angels
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I don't have to see
| |
| − | To know that murderers
| |
| − | Are getting Prettier
| |
| − | Every day
| |
| − | I don't have to see
| |
| − | To know that murderers
| |
| − | Are getting Prettier
| |
| − | Every day
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Fall on your knees
| |
| − | I hear the horrid voices
| |
| − | Of someone else's angels
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Born Villain (Not what you'd expect. Click click)
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I could give you a dozen
| |
| − | Fresh,
| |
| − | Cut,
| |
| − | Pink, or red, or white
| |
| − | I wonder if they knew what they
| |
| − | Would grow to become
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I could give you a dozen
| |
| − | Fresh,
| |
| − | Cut,
| |
| − | Pink, or red, or white
| |
| − | I wonder if they knew what they
| |
| − | Would grow to become
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Become become
| |
| − | Become become
| |
| − | Be be be become
| |
| − |
| |
| − | You'll have to cut it down
| |
| − | And burn me into splinters
| |
| − | Or I'll unwrap the string that was me,
| |
| − | Around your finger.
| |
| − | And I'll hang you in
| |
| − | Your bedroom burial ground
| |
| − |
| |
| − | There is a taste for blood
| |
| − | And it's something deep inside
| |
| − | There is a taste for blood
| |
| − | And it's deep inside
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Become become
| |
| − | Become become
| |
| − | Be be be become
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I don't ever want God
| |
| − | To hear our screams
| |
| − | And mistake them for prayers.
| |
| − | And you know I'm loaded
| |
| − | But not which chamber
| |
| − | Touch me and I'll go
| |
| − | Click click click click click
| |
| − | Click click click click click
| |
| − | Click click click click click
| |
| − |
| |
| − | There is a taste for blood
| |
| − | And it's something deep inside
| |
| − | There is a taste for blood
| |
| − | And it's deep inside
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Become become
| |
| − | Become become
| |
| − | Be be be become
| |
| − |
| |
| − | And you know I'm loaded
| |
| − | But not which chamber
| |
| − | Touch me and I'll go
| |
| − | Click click click click click
| |
| − | Click click click click click
| |
| − | Click click click click click
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I'm born villain
| |
| − | Don't pretend to be a victim
| |
| − | I'm born villain
| |
| − | Don't pretend to be a victim
| |
| − | I'm born villain
| |
| − | Don't pretend to be a victim
| |
| − | I'm born villain
| |
| − | Don't pretend to be a victim
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Breaking the same old ground (Pretty damn good for an ending song)
| |
| − |
| |
| − |
| |
| − | And then I found how to be what you want
| |
| − | When I was out looking for something new
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Digging too deep
| |
| − | And now it's too late
| |
| − | We just keep on
| |
| − | Breaking the same old ground
| |
| − |
| |
| − | So you think that I asked for this
| |
| − | Well, let me show you
| |
| − | What I think of your lips
| |
| − | And you think that I asked for this
| |
| − | Come on,
| |
| − | Use your fist
| |
| − |
| |
| − | And then I found how to be what you want
| |
| − | When I was out looking for something new
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Digging too deep
| |
| − | And now it's too late
| |
| − | We just keep on
| |
| − | Breaking the same old ground
| |
| − |
| |
| − | So you think that I asked for this
| |
| − | Well, let me show you
| |
| − | What I think of your lips
| |
| − | And you think that I asked for this
| |
| − | Come on,
| |
| − | Use your fist
| |
| − |
| |
| − | When I found how to be what you want
| |
| − | I was looking for something new
| |
| − | Digging too deep
| |
| − | Now it's too late
| |
| − | We just keep on
| |
| − | Breaking the same old ground
| |
| − | Breaking the same old ground
| |
| − | Shhhhhh. . .
| |
| − | Shhhhhh. . .
| |
| − |
| |
| − | I am owned by death
| |
| − | And
| |
| − | I'm in love with oblivion
| |
| − |
| |
| − | am owned by death
| |
| − | And
| |
| − | I'm in love with oblivion
| |
| − |
| |
| | ==Trivia== | | ==Trivia== |
| | ==References== | | ==References== |
