Lover, I've got vices like any other man Vices that you're not used to Vices that'll make you think Oh but Lover, I've got vices like any other man
. I?ve got Vices like any other man. Vices that you?re not used to. Vices that?ll make you think... Oh, but Lover. I?ve got Vices like any other man.
Превод: Поетски мртвих. Вицес.
Take these animals again, And wrap your ropes around them. Let the demon take you in, and tell us stories about him. I will follow you.
I?m the sadist that reminds you of your blessing, And the reaper that takes them away To a place where they can lay there, And wilt and rot away. And
She told me don?t let them in. You?re a copy of a copy. She told me don?t come again. This is awful. This is all wrong. Now I feel it coming back again
Don?t fool the crowd with all your sentiments in vain. We are alive again. We will survive again. Don?t turn your back to every move you ever made. We
Paint the lines on perfect eyes that circle the object of My sincere affection, my undivided attention. Lie where you won?t see yourself in that way
Pretty Pretty, she looks so needy. She?s calm in the face, but she?s never forgetting every other time I?ve been Angry, raging, clenched up hands. But
I'm only patient enough to please the masses for so long. My brittle arms cannot hold up all the walls in this falling tomb. I'm only caring enough (
her own right. She dims the room light. While she moves closer, we all move slower. Tracing white lines, sipping fine wines. We remember when purity wasn?t dead
To me, you were just dead weight. A diluted filter blurring the color away from what this used to be or Or what it could have been. But nothing?s changed
Lover. I?ve got Vices like any other man. Vices that you?re not used to. Vices that?ll make you think... Oh, but Lover. I?ve got Vices like any other
be. The fantasy is dead, and I cannot feel it. This isn?t what we counted on. This isn?t what we said it?d be. The fantasy is dead, and long forgotten
down on the floor. Breed it, and bear it, and make it your narcotic. You sold your soul, now they want more. Vanity's gun left you dead in Hollywood.
In this sinless city, we wear calluses on our hands. From empty, vain hand-shaking, we see the guilt has left again. And all will fall, with or without
I?m still stitching up the stabs you left, weaving in and out slowly. I grow accustomed to the piercing flesh, and find evil in the holy. And still,
. I've got Vices like any other man. Vices that you're not used to. Vices that'll make you think... Oh, but Lover. I've got Vices like any other man.
