Bacchanalia Lyrics

by Down

Wringing of bodies, rang of lurid

Glade of swamp extent vast and degraded here

Worshiper's mass motion, left to right

Deeper fleur-de-lys-soaked institution

Unfamiliar

Chill the listener drain the blister

A vacated Hypnos

Endless bacchanalia

Creeping older fetishism laggard

Of New Orleans horde de rigueur for mention

Monday's repetition of Sunday's

Is more easily planned than it is performed

Born familiar

Chilled distiller

Follow it wrecked en masse

Passing the glass, slaking the mass

A vacated Hypnos

Endless bacchanalia

Falling ruin zenith poison

Stooping at each doorway's quasi customs

Knocked-off feet cult-mull degenerate

Dread the needed gloom under one domed-roof

Unfamiliar

Chill the blister

Drain the listener

Born familiar

Chilled distiller

Passing the glass, slaking the mass

A vacated Hypnos

Endless bacchanalia

There is an ocean waiting

Amber wind blows

And the wind blows

Cry me a grave