The Futile Passion - Left Hand Solution

In the gallery of lost hopes

We stand as mortal shells

In this futile passion

Let the whorish smile seduce you

In this sickness we all carry

Let the insects crawl you through

On this sweet and sickly day

My soiled hands dig in the mould

Where all beauty lies rotting

In the gallery of lost hopes

You pass between my memories

As morality dies in my heart

Let the whorish smile seduce you

On this sweet and sickly day

White sheets drenched

With bodily fluids that dry on my skin

Experience the infection I bring

I cling to you in fever and lay myself into your sea

And let the nausea wash through me