Tonart: Eb major
Intro 1
D
F#
G
D
A
F#
G
Verse 1
D
A
Tongues planted in the
F#
G
D
cheeks of toothy Totenkopfgrins,
A
F#
sowed parallel to canines
G
whistling to birth a nation.
F#
G
D
A
F#
G
I guess.
D
F#
Oh, absolution is the only reward
G
D
A
F#
G
you'll confess,
D
A
G
paid as lent to yr guardian nothing.
D
A
Written checks just to say
D
A
Outlined in chalk, your numbers and ratios.
G
D
A
F#
G
D
Only zeros and ones in the end.
Verse 2
D
A
I wanna soil yr blood.
Bm
To uncrete altars, teeth nash on.
G
Bm
G
D
F#
What joy in torches snuffed?
G
D
Heads figured fallen preach that on.
A
I'd wanna soil yr blood,
But what's been said
won't crease that arm.
Bm
G
Bm
G
D
F#
If you say that nothing's lost,
G
D
why feign departial, crypt that tongue?
A
F#
A
Interlude 1
G
D
G
D
F#
G
D
G
Verse 3
D
A
Discharging like a seed
whose yield is its own famine.
G
D
Thin veils of (ivory irony)
G
Drape loose from olive branches
D
F#
A sexless matrimony of
E
F#
impact and in tent
G
D
G
D
Arm's
A
length just out of reach,
G
Bluffing on folded hands.
D
When poker faces recoil,
F#
G
F#
Bb
Who's playing the next hand?
Verse 4
D
Bb
roundtable set to go- merry.
F#
D
C
Vanilla abstracts frame the scene.
D
Bb
A seasonless feast for the tasteless.
D
C
G
C#m
D
Pearly whites rot from too many sweets.
Verse 5
D
A
I wanna soil yr blood.
G
To uncrete altars, teeth nash on.
Bm
D
F#
What joy in torches snuffed?
G
D
Heads figured fallen preach that on.
A
I'd wanna soil yr blood,
But what's been said won't
G
Bm
C#m
D
F#
If you say that noth ing's lost,
G
why feign departial, crypt
that tongue?
D
A
Verse 6
G
D
F#
G
Oh, the casualty of casualties.
D
A
G
Oh, the casualties of casualty.
D
Oh, the casualty of casualties
F#
for some cheap crypto- Valhal
G
F#
Bb
la for hellhounds.
F#
Heresy
Verse 7
D
Bb
F#
to yr fabricated savior,
C
D
what's divine.
Broken down to pills
Bb
like you've swallowed,
D
C
A
Just 14 words at a time.
D
Must secure to your dimly- lit
D
Bb
Deny the tide, it doesn't matter.
D
C
Stay left in its wake come the
C#m
D
time you see the skin shed.
Verse 8
D
A
I wanna soil yr blood.
Bm
To uncrete altars, teeth nash on.
G
Bm
G
D
F#
What joy in torches snuffed?
G
D
Heads figured fallen preach that on.
A
I'd wanna soil yr blood,
But what's been said
won't crease that arm.
Bm
G
D
F#
If you say that nothing's lost,
G
why feign departial, crypt
Outro 1
that tongue?
D
F#
D
A
F#
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