Текст (слова) песни: Celtic Frost - Idols Of Chagrin
What kind of race, lack of direction Just how lunatic, to have a nature so deceit Bewail my reverie, a gambol untried Lure of carnality and silence in forfeit Animals, enslaved to pearls of fictionalized worth Creatures, born from caves into simulated mirth I`m talking, Idols of Chagrin Born of possession, complacement in disguise Craving and candid, as to defy the character`s fall The kisses you drain, pedestrian pedigree What`s thought is pain might be desire after all
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