Gorelord

That Death’s a cold son of a bitch who owes me money
Just goes to show you can’t trust dealers these days
There’s a place in the desert where our world connects with theirs
Reunited in the badland’s grave
Stoned forever at the funeral rave

I have seen it
Two worlds
I have arrived at the Gorelord’s door
Once and for all to settle the score
I'm released
That Death’s a cold son of a bitch who owes me money
Just goes to show you can’t trust demons these days

If it’s a condition and not a curse
Then who cut the breaklines on my hearse
Is it chemical this sadness
Or is it spiritual this madness
Or is witchcraft