Hindered I am waiting for the moment of your bleeding My heart is throttled like an hourglass in its middle While my thought yells with epileptic throbs
I am looking at your orifice And I say to myself: maybe you are dead Maybe I am in a nightmare, in which I find myself in an abandoned slaughter-house
There is no another explanation Which for the horrible pestilence You are emanating that of a corpse Carved and abandoned to the worms
But here is the answer Is not blood that you're spitting Between your legs But a feminine flop
So, in the end, I'm gonna try To finally do something good - I'll forgive you
