Sittin’ at home on a Saturday night
Never had I felt so all alone
Dreamin’ of a gal who doesn’t exist
Gnawin’ on an old hound’s bone
Wonderin’ how to cleanse myself
Of the darkness in my soul
Sittin’ at home on a Saturday night
Gnawin’ on an old hound’s bone
Sittin’ at home on a Saturday night
Fillin’ my gills with booze
Drinkin’ it down and chokin’ it up
Either way I lose
Wonderin’ if this pain I feel
Is what folks call the blues
Sittin’ at home on a Saturday night
Gnawin’ on an old hound’s bone
Sittin’ at home on a Saturday night
Burnin’ old pictures in the fire
Thinkin’ of the skin of a pretty young thing
And feelin’ no desire
Wonderin’ how to start again
And tryin’ to atone
Sittin’ at home on a Saturday night
Gnawin’ on an old hound’s bone
Sittin’ at home on a Saturday night
Dialin’ old numbers on the phone
Even though the line is dead
I hear a distant drone
Wonderin’ how my skull would feel
If I smashed it with a stone
Sittin’ at home on a Saturday night
Gnawin’ on an old hound’s bone
Condemned to a fiery void, where teeth gnash and limbs beat endlessly, those that have inflicted pain on the innocent scream in agony, their cries reaching the top of the tallest spire that pierce the heavens where the abused now reside.
Those below plead for forgiveness, for solace. Those above simply laugh and refuse to answer as they watch them flail in the pit eternally.
This is the voice of one of many within the tower. It is the new standard for emotionally extreme music. Grimmrobe
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