Testo di Yellowism

Put the man on the stand A sentence to end him The word became cold flesh on a noose The gallows his picture frame I'll talk to god about the souls I've pulled out Run my fingers through their hair Tyrants of meaning Monopolies of beauty "Even flowers are black at night" I'll make my morals from the bottom up Sweet depravity my god My only power not in a word He smiled all the way down The punch line silenced Read his scars like a psalm