Cold Hate, Warm Blood

	作词 : Cryptopsy, Lord Worm
	Cold Hate, Warm Blood

	Late last night at rest with my mate
	I'm visited by a victim of hate
	A spectoral group, yet they're one and the same
	They would never live
	Nor would they have a name
	A baby too young to walk or to talk
	Rocked to sleep with a big, heavy rock
	Becomes a tot with a baleful glare
	Sucked from life by a shortage of air

	A child beyond time without gender
	Metamorphing to surrender
	Each shape for one older and still
	No end to how each could be killed

	By chance in the polyverse i'm all of these
	Each to fall prey with unnerving ease
	To who knows which ambiguous marasmus
	It asked at once knowing
	And unknowing the answers

	To things far removed from my experience
	Or need to know and thus it thanked me
	For sparing it death's multiplicitous masques
	And life's thankless laborious tasks

	January, child born alas
	February, still still frail as glass
	March through a formative period you must
	April child, in god, distrusts
	May comes and goes and shortlived is the hope
	June is the halfway mark of your rope
	July child fears end of time
	August child in slow decline
	September, sense starts to fail
	October's child, the burden ails
	November's child malingers on
	December's child is dead and gone

	zuò cí : Cryptopsy, Lord Worm
	Cold Hate, Warm Blood

	Late last night at rest with my mate
	I' m visited by a victim of hate
	A spectoral group, yet they' re one and the same
	They would never live
	Nor would they have a name
	A baby too young to walk or to talk
	Rocked to sleep with a big, heavy rock
	Becomes a tot with a baleful glare
	Sucked from life by a shortage of air

	A child beyond time without gender
	Metamorphing to surrender
	Each shape for one older and still
	No end to how each could be killed

	By chance in the polyverse i' m all of these
	Each to fall prey with unnerving ease
	To who knows which ambiguous marasmus
	It asked at once knowing
	And unknowing the answers

	To things far removed from my experience
	Or need to know and thus it thanked me
	For sparing it death' s multiplicitous masques
	And life' s thankless laborious tasks

	January, child born alas
	February, still still frail as glass
	March through a formative period you must
	April child, in god, distrusts
	May comes and goes and shortlived is the hope
	June is the halfway mark of your rope
	July child fears end of time
	August child in slow decline
	September, sense starts to fail
	October' s child, the burden ails
	November' s child malingers on
	December' s child is dead and gone