Paroles de Ill Man

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