Lord Abortion Cradle of Filth

Care for a little necrophilia? Hmm?

I was born with a birthmark of cinders
Debris cast from the stars and mother
A ring of bright slaughter
I spat in the waters of life
That ran slick from the stabwounds in her

Dub me Lord Abortion, the living dead
The bonesaw on the backseat
On this bitter night of giving head
A sharp rear entry, an exit in red
Lump in the throat, on my cum choke
The killing joke worn thin with breath

I grew up on the sluts bastard father beat blue
Keepsake cunts cut full out easing puberty through

Aah!
Nostalgia grows
Now times nine or ten
Within this vice den called a soul
Dying for resurrection
I dig deep to come again
The spasm of orgasm on a roll