I must be surrounded by a Coven of witches
who've bewitched their own eyes
to unsee what they're seeing.
Sinking, unseen,
living in a dream,
but this dream screams about all things unclean.
Tearing at the seams,
life isn't what it seems,
they don't want this one so they make believe
using lotions and potions,
liquid tokens are taken
to appease something
is it him, is it really Satan?
One drop two drops just a bit more,
eyes so low they're hanging on the floor.
Cant see, cant hear, living in fear,
it's not Satan, he's already disappeared.
Another puppeteer strings this dream
with ministerial fingers,
green and unclean.
The poor little bitches are witches no more,
giving up their spells, they're destined for hell,
one gets fucked if they don't stand up,
but living in this dream nothings what it seems.
Spells for ignorance,
potions for peace,
the dream they live is already deceased.
(Larna Bobby Lou)