It's a chase for what you'll never encase
More like hide it away in a box of guilty pleasure
Opened only to shutter at the twisted moralities of others
Yet still you get off to the warping sensation
Fears taken and bent into little pleasure pretzels
Her sickness feeds your addiction for ***** gore
No matter how far you stray you can't help but crave her flavor
It's your panic switch that she cradles
As the lines between whats wrong and right fades equal
With all her red flags soaring you have no other option but surrender
Caught up in her web you'd gladly be devoured