21 September 2012
She glides through the room with a smile on her face, Drinking wine and spiking hemlock with a needle and a lace, Wry expression, cold satire, she's a vixen of the club, And she acts her life in fire as she mouths her words in dub.
Midnight makeup, coven clothing, and a zealot of the night, Preaching pain and frosted laughing, as she draws upon your fright, Charging music through her bloodstream and electric through her bone, She's a daemon of the graveyard and her thoughts are set in stone.
Black Lips • Opuss № I