The Futile Passion - Left Hand Solution

In the gallery of lost hopes 
We stand as mortal shells 
In this futile passion 
Let the whorish smile seduce you 
In this sickness we all carry 
Let the insects crawl you through 
On this sweet and sickly day 
My soiled hands dig in the mould 
Where all beauty lies rotting 
In the gallery of lost hopes 
You pass between my memories 
As morality dies in my heart 
Let the whorish smile seduce you 
On this sweet and sickly day 
White sheets drenched 
With bodily fluids that dry on my skin 
Experience the infection I bring 
I cling to you in fever 
And lay myself into your sea 
And let the nausea wash through me