End of the pier, end of the bay
You tug my arm, and say:
"Give in to lust
Give up to lust
oh heaven knows we'll
Soon be dust..."
But I'm not the man you think I am
I'm not the man you think I am
And Sorrow's native son
He will not rise for anyone
And Pretty Girls Make Graves
° Foto: Boca da Vampiria °