Though Your Body Is Cold...
Three drops of sorrow is all yond I can almost did shed I'm winding up tighter than any thread As thee did lie on white sheets upon the bed I can't help but bethink thee behold quite quaint dead Mine own hand wouldst love to touch thy skin Mine own head is full of the most atrocious sin But thou art so bitter cold and won't let me in And how can a veil of lust be so thin Thee can not be any fusty'r than ten The way thy fucking curve is so fucking flirty And mine own mind is full of images salaciously free Thou art so so tempting, naked and skirt free And coequal though I despair to caress thee Its pointless anon to seek to impress thee Mine own job is to crisp, arrangeth and dresseth thee Maketh thee up to behold just liketh the most wondrous doth But oh, mine own lovely corpse I has a needeth To seeth thee did bury carrying mine own seed Nobody shall ever know, for secrecy I plead Thee shall behold quite quaint in spite of mine own naughty deed
Written by: Antonio Russo
Lyrics © DistroKid
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