| 作词 : Wasilewski, Wiwczarak | |
| I tasted the fever of your existence | |
| Seems like cold grain to my mouth | |
| I stand aside, | |
| I stay away | |
| Transmuting my quicksilver blood | |
| KIA, that | |
| I may seeZ | |
| OS, that I may touch | |
| Insipid are the describing words | |
| The self needs no vulgar praise | |
| This worship has no supplications | |
| My rite is to live and do | |
| Things naked, pure of honest lust | |
| The throbbing vortex feeds on it all | |
| Sleep is the best of possible prayers | |
| The winged eyes are blessed to see | |
| Downtrodden deception of every torment | |
| Trans pierced hymens my lust adores | |
| Many images yet one raw flesh | |
| Animal steps | |
| I love to tread | |
| An ideal point where time is space | |
| Memory giant sores, this journey must heal | |
| Lady of Mourning and her monsters | |
| Lay down the scythes for here | |
| I comeJoyful and priapic my baby soul | |
| A new born one, ten million years old |
| zuo ci : Wasilewski, Wiwczarak | |
| I tasted the fever of your existence | |
| Seems like cold grain to my mouth | |
| I stand aside, | |
| I stay away | |
| Transmuting my quicksilver blood | |
| KIA, that | |
| I may seeZ | |
| OS, that I may touch | |
| Insipid are the describing words | |
| The self needs no vulgar praise | |
| This worship has no supplications | |
| My rite is to live and do | |
| Things naked, pure of honest lust | |
| The throbbing vortex feeds on it all | |
| Sleep is the best of possible prayers | |
| The winged eyes are blessed to see | |
| Downtrodden deception of every torment | |
| Trans pierced hymens my lust adores | |
| Many images yet one raw flesh | |
| Animal steps | |
| I love to tread | |
| An ideal point where time is space | |
| Memory giant sores, this journey must heal | |
| Lady of Mourning and her monsters | |
| Lay down the scythes for here | |
| I comeJoyful and priapic my baby soul | |
| A new born one, ten million years old |
| zuò cí : Wasilewski, Wiwczarak | |
| I tasted the fever of your existence | |
| Seems like cold grain to my mouth | |
| I stand aside, | |
| I stay away | |
| Transmuting my quicksilver blood | |
| KIA, that | |
| I may seeZ | |
| OS, that I may touch | |
| Insipid are the describing words | |
| The self needs no vulgar praise | |
| This worship has no supplications | |
| My rite is to live and do | |
| Things naked, pure of honest lust | |
| The throbbing vortex feeds on it all | |
| Sleep is the best of possible prayers | |
| The winged eyes are blessed to see | |
| Downtrodden deception of every torment | |
| Trans pierced hymens my lust adores | |
| Many images yet one raw flesh | |
| Animal steps | |
| I love to tread | |
| An ideal point where time is space | |
| Memory giant sores, this journey must heal | |
| Lady of Mourning and her monsters | |
| Lay down the scythes for here | |
| I comeJoyful and priapic my baby soul | |
| A new born one, ten million years old |
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