Aaron Stainthorpe - vocals
Andy Craighan - guitars, bass
Calvin Robertshaw - guitars
Rick Miah - drums
Recorded and mixed at Revolver studio on 11th May 1991
Produced by Tim Walker and My Dying Bride
God Is Alone
Remove the marks
Uphold the race
How the king is blind
Endowed with joy
Irritable speech
Break your back to help the wrteched
My blood has learned what fear is
My skin itching insane
My mouth spills with excrement
Eyes burned away
My spine crooked and stampe
d on
Feet nailed together
Genitals savaged with broken glass
Snap my ribs for pleasure
God Is Alone
Children broke before me
Fathers kicked to death
Sad tune on jade flute
Mothers die in sex
Yawning wounds on tiny bodies
And dew falls on quivering flesh
Turn and watch the edge
Focus on satisfaction
Unbelievable self extinction
Admire cloned convictors
Will the beast fall
Will God save us.
De Sade Soliloquay
Hang over me the drape
Of superfluous Horror
Aside Nocturnal trapping
Wallow in my Art
Crying and dying
My sexual ecstacy
The crimson stream
That flows from you
Magnificent, Supine,
Red heaven gapes at me
Dragged across putrid ground
Mother scorns my glove
A vile red heap
I gorge my selfish dream
Polite garden party
If only they knew
Lick the eyes
To make them shine
Peel the peach
Cold with time
The weight of fantasy
That is not even mine
Smell her wounds
Rich more than wine
The crimson stream
That flows from you.
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Feet nailed together
Genitals savaged with broken glass
Snap my ribs for pleasure
God Is Alone
Children broke before me
Fathers kicked to death
Sad tune on jade flute
Mothers die in sex
Yawning wounds on tiny bodies
And dew falls on quivering flesh
Turn and watch the edge
Focus on satisfaction
Unbelievable self extinction
Admire cloned convictors
Will the beast fall
Will God save us.
De Sade Soliloquay
Hang over me the drape
Of superfluous Horror
Aside Nocturnal trapping
Wallow in my Art
Crying and dying
My sexual ecstacy
The crimson stream
That flows from you
Magnificent, Supine,
Red heaven gapes at me
Dragged across putrid ground
Mother scorns my glove
A vile red heap
I gorge my selfish dream
Polite garden party
If only they knew
Lick the eyes
To make them shine
Peel the peach
Cold with time
The weight of fantasy
That is not even mine
Smell her wounds
Rich more than wine
The crimson stream
That flows from you.