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