She walks the night. Hunting her little children. They hide in shadows arms, Throwing sticks at friendly corpses

And she can see their eyes Blinded by a thousand lice And she can hear their cries Gaping mouths are loosing tongues

Savage desire Bleeding the first course, she is Savage desire Eating her new born children

With frost and skin entwined And excremental paste Address their little limbs Preparations done for the spit

Hold tight her child. He is not yet even one. Tinged with a sickly blue He is dying in her arms

Beautiful Savage Beautiful Savage Beautiful Savage Beautiful Savage