IRC-Galleria

"Ten tons of lungs roar into the black vault
ItÂ’s disease, glam and champagne filled with nails
The syndrome is sucked into white bloodcells
And we march as vamps and wolves on red human oil

The faceless onesÂ…
The leather swept ones that bring hate in tons
The faceless onesÂ…
The subversion of laws through the rule of guns

Here they come as the models and machines
And see the dolls twist inside of their dreams
I see the puppets whisper with manic tongues
Feel it, scream it out from the top of your lounges!"