Well lit allure of anesthesia.
From part one up to ten,
it´s a journey about a dead man,
walking the end, bespattering the blue,
sometimes we die more than death asks us to.
The ting, oh the bells ting,
you should be ready,
our love-battle fleet at anchor in the bay.
Now dwell in a pillion of me,
sweet railyards are approaching,
the Lamppost march-past stirring,
Death! Dance with me!
it´s a journey about a dead man,
walking the end, bespattering the blue,
sometimes we die more than death asks us to.
The ting, oh the bells ting,
you should be ready,
our love-battle fleet at anchor in the bay.
Now dwell in a pillion of me,
sweet railyards are approaching,
the Lamppost march-past stirring,
Death! Dance with me!