Dragged through haunted corridors
Hooked shoulder and waiting for release
Her legs cease to kick
As the nightshade takes hold
Hefted into a chair
She sits motionless
Without a whimper
Priscilla begins to expire
Orfeo begins to slash
Gathering blood
Gazing upon her distinguished visage
HE GRIPS HIS BRUSH
With each passing smear
Her dress begins to ruffle onto canvas
DEEP AND RED
As the blood leaving her flesh
Her vacant mouth
Begins to leak
Her voluptuous cysts
Begin to break
Orfeo abandons the brush
In favor of a goblet
Her paint is quite finite
And none must be lost
He tilts Priscilla's head forward
As she spills into the vessel
Orfeo lines his subject
And gazes into the bowl of swill
Death and disease swirling
In a miasma of uncongealed life
Mesmerized by his cradle of filth
Orfeo gulps lavishly
Returning to his canvas
Orfeo lathers her likeness
In browns and reds
Capturing the very boils
That brought her here
La malattia
LA MALATTIA non deve prendere il el mio amore
(The plague shall not take you, my love)
Licking the gaping wounds
That the sick artist inflicted
Eyes open wide
Mouth gaping in stride
The brush strokes to the last beat
Of Priscilla's dying heart
As from her torso
Her head begins to depart
Priscilla's head finds rest upon the floor
As Orfeo observes
A fan of his own work
Orfeo bathes in pride
From the growing rose upon her breast
To the very look of terror captured in her eyes
HER BULBOUS SKIN
A SICKLY SHEEN OF PUS
HANDS FOLDED NEATLY UPON HER LAP
TRAIL OF BLOOD PRANCING DOWN HER MOUTH
Orfeo stares into Priscilla's vibrant blue eyes
As the painting stares back
He gleams as he drinks the rest of the taint
"La malattia non deve prendere il el mio amore"
Orfeo sputters
As he falls lifeless upon the floor
Phlegethon - Oeuvre of Blood Lyrics
Phlegethon - Oeuvre of Blood Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
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Dragged through haunted corridors
Hooked shoulder and waiting for release
Her legs cease to kick
As the nightshade takes hold
Hefted into a chair
She sits motionless
Without a whimper
Priscilla begins to expire
Orfeo begins to slash
Gathering blood
Gazing upon her distinguished visage
HE GRIPS HIS BRUSH
With each passing smear
Her dress begins to ruffle onto canvas
DEEP AND RED
As the blood leaving her flesh
Her vacant mouth
Begins to leak
Her voluptuous cysts
Begin to break
Orfeo abandons the brush
In favor of a goblet
Her paint is quite finite
And none must be lost
He tilts Priscilla's head forward
As she spills into the vessel
Orfeo lines his subject
And gazes into the bowl of swill
Death and disease swirling
In a miasma of uncongealed life
Mesmerized by his cradle of filth
Orfeo gulps lavishly
Returning to his canvas
Orfeo lathers her likeness
In browns and reds
Capturing the very boils
That brought her here
La malattia
LA MALATTIA non deve prendere il el mio amore
(The plague shall not take you, my love)
Licking the gaping wounds
That the sick artist inflicted
Eyes open wide
Mouth gaping in stride
The brush strokes to the last beat
Of Priscilla's dying heart
As from her torso
Her head begins to depart
Priscilla's head finds rest upon the floor
As Orfeo observes
A fan of his own work
Orfeo bathes in pride
From the growing rose upon her breast
To the very look of terror captured in her eyes
HER BULBOUS SKIN
A SICKLY SHEEN OF PUS
HANDS FOLDED NEATLY UPON HER LAP
TRAIL OF BLOOD PRANCING DOWN HER MOUTH
Orfeo stares into Priscilla's vibrant blue eyes
As the painting stares back
He gleams as he drinks the rest of the taint
"La malattia non deve prendere il el mio amore"
Orfeo sputters
As he falls lifeless upon the floor
Hooked shoulder and waiting for release
Her legs cease to kick
As the nightshade takes hold
Hefted into a chair
She sits motionless
Without a whimper
Priscilla begins to expire
Orfeo begins to slash
Gathering blood
Gazing upon her distinguished visage
HE GRIPS HIS BRUSH
With each passing smear
Her dress begins to ruffle onto canvas
DEEP AND RED
As the blood leaving her flesh
Her vacant mouth
Begins to leak
Her voluptuous cysts
Begin to break
Orfeo abandons the brush
In favor of a goblet
Her paint is quite finite
And none must be lost
He tilts Priscilla's head forward
As she spills into the vessel
Orfeo lines his subject
And gazes into the bowl of swill
Death and disease swirling
In a miasma of uncongealed life
Mesmerized by his cradle of filth
Orfeo gulps lavishly
Returning to his canvas
Orfeo lathers her likeness
In browns and reds
Capturing the very boils
That brought her here
La malattia
LA MALATTIA non deve prendere il el mio amore
(The plague shall not take you, my love)
Licking the gaping wounds
That the sick artist inflicted
Eyes open wide
Mouth gaping in stride
The brush strokes to the last beat
Of Priscilla's dying heart
As from her torso
Her head begins to depart
Priscilla's head finds rest upon the floor
As Orfeo observes
A fan of his own work
Orfeo bathes in pride
From the growing rose upon her breast
To the very look of terror captured in her eyes
HER BULBOUS SKIN
A SICKLY SHEEN OF PUS
HANDS FOLDED NEATLY UPON HER LAP
TRAIL OF BLOOD PRANCING DOWN HER MOUTH
Orfeo stares into Priscilla's vibrant blue eyes
As the painting stares back
He gleams as he drinks the rest of the taint
"La malattia non deve prendere il el mio amore"
Orfeo sputters
As he falls lifeless upon the floor
Writer: Tyler Wrich
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid