Who wants to dance with the devils,
Long buried deep, bred to undermine.
Sagging defenses weigh on the interior,
Causing illusion to encroach on the spine.
Music really never meant to be danced to,
Sonic sounds from nails of a rusted past.
Acquiring targets for the death of the savior,
Hook and sinkers for lines never cast.
Spin, spin, my old dear friend once beaten,
Hear, hear, now we can only kill ourselves.
Holding the mirror away from our true vestige,
For some raging fires are better than our true hells.