The Gaelic uisce beatha.
The water of life.
The welcoming sting dances patterns on your reluctant pallet.
Trickles drops down drowning your fear and narrow mind.
The angels tax 4% to the barrel annually.
And we've stolen the devil's cut.
Heavy flow down my throat beseech me to ask for more.
Makes a monster out of me.
Forms my skin to tempered steel.
Turn me on once more.
My love, old no. 7.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
The Gaelic uisce beatha.
The water of life.
The welcoming sting dances patterns on your reluctant pallet.
Trickles drops down drowning your fear and narrow mind.
The angels tax 4% to the barrel annually.
And we've stolen the devil's cut.
Heavy flow down my throat beseech me to ask for more.
Makes a monster out of me.
Forms my skin to tempered steel.
Turn me on once more.
My love, old no. 7.
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