الكلمات الأصلية
ENالترجمة غير متاحة بعد. نعرض الكلمات الأصلية.
The smell of the newsprint
The face of death
You rattle down the stairwell
All cover in sweat
And he has your face now
I don't have to guess
He lives in your distance
Right in front of your face
Holy mother of terror
Bless my soul to keep
Help me find the light switch
So I can lay me down to sleep
I have your face now
And I have no pity
I'm so far away
There's no help left for me
