The Futile Passion - Left Hand Solution



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



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