Procession Lyrics - Machine Love - Genitorturers

Subjected nevermore, to the whims of the dying 

Steal their flesh, from the pool of the lying 

Injected more, erythematous moisture 

Beyond high, by the chosen kind 

Feel it, to breathe evermore 

Of the wicked of the world, where processions' end 

Subjected nevermore, to the fears of the dying 

Feel their high, attempts to allude 

Your flesh will sigh, in the midst of moisture 

One sect more for the chosen kind 

Can you feel it? Can you feel their high? 

Feel it! Breathe evermore! 

Breathe from the chosen kind, then lie back down 

Feel their high and breathe evermore 

End your search for the nevermore