Corpsefield
Halls of death, and ruthless enemies
They have all deserved to be in there
Hearts are full of grief, disappointment
Dreadful nightmares dwelling into your mind

Since you have been declared as an ornament
Your are the prisoner of your own obsessions
Pressure on the walls of your own mind
Pressure of your never existed life and hopes

Heads are saturated they are still smiling
Into your head they are still screaming

Halls of dead, ruthless enemies
Schizophrenic torment

This is the gash
Eternal sleep

Your are drawn in love but you are betraying
Despite your anger and begging you are isolated