10's

My skin is cold, transfusion with somebody morose and
Old, drop into fruitless dying
It was tempting and bared, the whoring angel rising
Now burning prayers, my silent time of losing

Chorus:
My foes – they can’t destroy my body
Colliding slow, like life itself

Long for the blur, we cannot dry much longer
Cement to dirt, disgusted with my cheapness

Chorus

Reaching down, staring up (at the forgiver)

Posted in Pantera and tagged , , , .

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