Sangtekst: Pale Forest. Asylum Pyre.

Conscience has me easily disturbed
the moving things around me makes me weep
Why can't they stop so I can see them properly?
It makes me wonder if I'm slightly in daze

My hands are thrown into a great fire
My inner ear is singing
singing like a huge church choir

Decomposition of my eyes won't help my vision

this isn't quite as funny anymore
Corpsepaint isn't really necessary
I haven't got a pulse anyway