Eighteenth Angel - The True Art of the Kill

I have uncommon greeds
A longing to strangle, feel the blood in my veins
I see you as a china on my mantelpiece

The moon, the stars that shine in the evening
Are pictures in the sky

Pictures that won't be destroyed by human
Just as my mind won't be controlled (hands)
by stupid people
Symphonies of pain, chants of anguish

The true art of the kill
The art of death never die.

The red wine, the smell of blood.
Blood that pulsates, blood that runs in the veins of an
Actress (a slut)

Opera plays. A theatrical art
Death Art for real