(instrumental)
In this cell that is ours there is no pity No sunrise on the cold plain that is our soul No beckoning to a warm horizon The sun shall never greet my eyes
your joy be the reality Our suffering life, the dream Pain, the highest order Scorching the inside of my skin Terminal spirit disease An itch of thirst twisting my tortured nerves Terminal spirit disease, terminal spirit disease
darkness into me Ugly and drugged, rotten to the core I see a truth you cannot see As smooth as the skin The skin of fire I'm at the mercy of urges
Catch fire, just like a living disease Unholy desire, a world on it's knees Our burning minds, they are ridden of hope In a dreaming utopia, dead on dape
Each day a mournful pity Life looks upon you with scorn Hopes live, visions elude As your feeble breath is torn Six sinister thorns of beauty The claws
that is depression Join the leeches of oppression Inpure - twisted - logic they die Kill the worm that is depression My fevered circle - circle of damnation Consumed by this torment pivine Terminal spirit disease Terminal spirit disease
Tłumaczenie: At The Gates. Terminal Spirit Disease.
