Cobra Noir

Famished despite the cockroaches crawling in their mouths.
Perfectly aligned to devour, to receive,
Decayed remains of flesh.
There is nobody here.
For the are no bells,
For there are no tales,
There is no hell.
Tarnished in spite of the imagery.
Yet they bow, absolve and indulge.
To glorify a horrid display of affliction.
[ Eucharist Lyrics ]