Four libertines beneath chandeliers
Sanctimonious is their impression
True nature unveiled when they speak
No one impedes them, spun beneath temples of sand
Any semblance of innocence driven out
In time, more violent fetishes push forth
Winter months uncoil the depths of this decay
It descends; donning costume
Serpentine body omnipresent throughout the estate
In this manner, they can watch from behind one face More from Belie My Burial