with the stain the stain of unknowing the dead flowe buds, on 
 smiling lips is innocent blood the corpse of your god can only 
 rot and grow cold now promise you'll kill me before I get old 
 I heard you on the telephone moaning my doom a cold woman will 
 kill me in a darkened room the chain-saw smile of the mortici- 
 an shines I still got all my fingers but somewhere I lost my 
 mind I can smell abortion on you I can see thru I ta ke the gun 
 out of my mouth and point it at you