Throats from XIII by Bed Of Wasps

Cut out their throats.

There’s nowhere to run,
There’s nowhere to hide.
This little sharp knife,
Reveals what’s inside.
We’re hunting for blood,
Abandoning love.
We’re stringing up pigs,
And cutting their throats.

Grasp at your neck,
Look at your hands,
Fall to the floor,
Covered in blood.

The cold hard tile,
Your dripping throat,
That stained red shirt,
Holds back the flood.

Cut out your scheming,
Dissect your demons,
The joyous screaming,
As you lose all feeling.

A ritual sacrifice in the name of balance.
We can lose it all,
And we can kill 'em all.
Grab a blade.
This is just the beginning,
So join in on the fun.

As your eyes,
Double in size,
You’ll realise,
Everyone dies.

What will become of us, if we don’t start the purge?
What does it mean to love, if we won’t spill some blood?

As your eyes,
Double in size,
You’ll realise,
Everyone dies.

Look what you’ve done to us,
It’s time that you spill that your guts,
All in spite of love.

• Black Hardcore
• Hardcore
• Punk
• doom
• Dundee