Taste My Feeling as I Shove Them Down Your Throat

Taste the feeling of razor lines
Like knives clawing down our spines
Machinery tearing down our will
Murder with the coldest chill
Eyes of coal
Stealing my soul

Here is the worlds smallest stage
Screaming the shortest phrases
For you to be all the rage
So lets sing your hollow praises

Hold the hand of black lace
With blood smeared across your face
Dance upon your own tombstone
Though you won't be doing it alone
With no heart inside
Bathed in suicide

I hope you taste the irony
And choke upon it's grave.