Emma Ruth Rundle - Pelt lyrics

Worn, the diadem of suffering Or crown of meaninglessness Ignites the unending dusk and sets forth the mantle of perversion From love, thick with blood it is inherited by the many hands of I Worked tirelessly those folds, lain and draping To both stifle and coax the growing numbers Without eternal soul we are so moved by means Trampled the pelt to new function So from mire make the fur of benediction Taken upon our coagulate body to form a great beast All 7 heads and hands, ten tiny fingers plunged into me Lest I should ride d**h reign less and alone For father who dies on new year's day To shoot the peaceful prince To put down a horse with legs that are broken And mend a broken fence