#1
Come, take out thy blade O' doer of evil
We'll step softly
In a world where lovers lye in beds
row upon row
never to see the end

push your knife into their chest
they must be killed while they sleep
while they still dream

cover the mouth
for one must not feel another
in this world where lovers die silently

Are we the sick
or the disease?
we shall never feel another

in this world where no man bleeds for another
the sick slowly die
but the sickness survives

stealing lives of many
for lack of your own
we shall never see the end

O' doer of evil be sure thy blade is sharp
as there is no struggle
and they shall see the end
This is a battlefield, this is war
This is a battlefield, this is home
#2
This song actually made me see the value of knives and lovers and death in bed as a useful image in a song. Mainly it made me see the value of it because you don't see it at all. This is just cliche tripe. I guess it's well written and in a gothic sense it's nice and all, but it's nothing that hasn't been said a thousand times by a thousand different people.

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