It's the smell of it Its inexorable pull And i grow weaker Weaker with the lull I have learned That the stronger exist By the eating of others Fetidly I belong to them To sustain the rhythm Of decay The milk of them My scourges of black lust In the milk of them Buried in the breast A slew of low chords Accompany my bloodlust My dying opens in the fields And claims a body count Live through this Take all of me now To build a centre The milk of them My scourges of black lust In the milk of them Buried in the breast