November's got her nails dug in deep
I haven't seen my son for seven years
Buiton, I don't even know his name
Spend my spare time with my rosary beads,
although I never learn to pray.
But you don't need the light in its case to
pretend that you see the errors of your way.
And darkness in you is as
This darkness is as heavy
Dreams are now filled with
Another sight that I've never seen
They used to be filled with
And the horror that emerged
Is as hell to me as cold as stone is to
Is as hell on me, cold like a stone is to
A stray in your mind can always recall
what the senses eagerly divide
each disgust in his taste
But tonight I feel I don't lie
This memory is just a dead
Haven't seen the sun for seven days
Haven't seen my son for seven years
Memories are just dead men making trolls
This memory is just a dead
This memory is just a dead
