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Crematoria...
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Boy Gore
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Oh my sweet Crematoria,who's heaving breasts remind me of,
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the fatal kiss of suicide,when perfumed with formaldehyde
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they tried to take you away from me,so I took away their lives
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but first I killed their relatives,their children and their wives,
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they thought your death wound end my love for you,but that
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was a grave mistake,my hands are still covered with their blood
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as from the furnace I collect your remains,
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the roads belong to us my love,and those who dare to block our
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way,
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will pay profusely with their blood,as I make it shower the ground
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like rain,
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the trunk of my old muscle car is now a shrine to you,a half charred
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godess well preserved by embalming fluid,
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the cops are on our trail now,as we hide in cheap motels
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a deputy pulls us over,so I shoot him in the face...
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