Текст песни BLOODY HARVEST - Инъекция смертью

Fiend evil fiction
Sick body closed eyes
Behaving in a tomb naive people
Let's play , who was the first to die

You prick themselves in his death

You go through the death of people's lives
And there is no doubt , a lot of ideas
But in order to find the grave of his way,
You will have to pass through flour

No more living in infectious blood
You rotten prick his veins
And the arrival of going mad
You do not come back will never

You prick themselves in his death