The Morticians Flame

Hunter of tears, relative pain Half of this world is dark with the stain The stain of unknowing The dead flower buds, On smiling lips is innocent blood The corpse of your god can only rot and grow cold Now promise me you'll kill me before I get old I hear you on the telephone Moaning my doom A cold woman will kill me in a darkened room Just enough, a heart attack Seal up my black body bag Take me home and hate me, love Bite the hand of our lost love Take your time and take your life Amputate with this dull knife Heaven's meat is on the stick Stir my pain with an ice pick Pick, pick, pick Pick, pick, pick Pick, pick, pick The chain-saw smile of the mortician shines I still got all my fingers but somewhere I lost my mind I can smell abortion on you I can see through I take the gun out of my mouth and point it at you