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• Artiste: Trophy Scars
• Titre: Gutted
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There are shadows swinging from the chandeliers The husband entranced by the dark The wife, the kids, the mirror all sick with fear As our ghosts flip over every little cross. Then they see the angels and all their bloody deaths Lent to burning crosses on their heads As they run out the door, we appear through the floor, ghosts forevermore Scratching burning crosses on our heads. They think of their house Their perfect little house They pay a priest to bless us out As the board up the doors and tear up the floors Dead forevermore, still wearing that blood soaked filthy fucking blouse. By the cellar stairs and the birchwood chairs you can hear the creaks from the house Through the lilac trees, through the swamps and the weeds, you can hear the screams from their mouths I used to think that we knew best drinking blood at church by the park I used to say, "everyone's afraid" Everyone's afraid of the dark Clutching to their bibles, burning holy candles They think they got a handle on their house But every time they go to bed my girl is standing by their heads I watch her open her transparent mouth She sings: "You wont be sleeping too long," "You'll pack up your things before dawn," "We'll burn through your sheets as you hear us scream," "Scratching burning crosses from our heads." Then they see the angels and all their bloody deaths Lent to burning crosses on their heads As they run out the door, we appear through the floor, ghosts forevermore Scratching burning crosses on our heads.