Paroles: Afterhours. Ballads For Little Hyenas. Fresh Flesh.

I taste the leather
Of your skin on another
Do what you must dear
Don't look down- Down on me
'cause you- you are only
That which you see

Black is the fire
of what's left of your soul
Inside are you slave
Or are you king?

All is calm
Tied up with string

There was one who came undone
And that was you