Empyrean Abattoir of Montreal

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Winter isn't much here, just a flinching centigrade
Though the grasses all look jaundiced and the poplar branches flayed
Oh-oh, the poplar branches flayed

Before your hysterical silence, you came rapping at my door
With your body as a sacrament, your mind a killing floor
Oh-oh, your mind a killing floor

I've been trying to quell my anger
And not feel bitter about all the darkness you gave
But, as always, there's that device that I cannot disengage

Just as the Red Terror, you tried to kill what you couldn't reign
And now you're back in Knoxville masturbating your father's pain
Oh-oh, masturbating your father's pain

Stealing from his oration of filth
I repeat the wickedness to force reactions out of you
But it never hurts as deeply as I want it to

I think I'll mix my medicine and explore it 'til I'm dull
You made my sky a graveyard and my moon a funeral
Oh-oh, my moon a funeral
Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh
Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh