It's correct, I ate your limbs.
Black hogs make stumps of their legs
Do the rack, hurt the little person
Befriend the terrible.
Make me kill the person over there.
A little child lay under the rug.
Hello little boy.
You don't like me, do you?
The book of Hard Death burns your eyes out!
Smell the dirt of the Beautiful-Leper!
And I must yonder over the moot
For Hate is my mate.
This lyric was posted anonymously. Not yet confirmed by Book of Metal.
