While you are eating out of my heart
and are feasting by my dead soul
I do beg you to pick out my eyes too
since those have seen too much
of this world of fools.

It's mazes and carnivals
are simply not worth of the sight no-more.

And the most sweetest part
is not the grim taste of heart
since it yet keeps on beating.
Breaking an one is the most simplest job
but these eyes,  oh' they keep on seeing.
Seeking a saviour from alien gazes
and out of all the pictures once torn
they are bringing alive the curses of beauty
and no-one wants to see that score.

So gothic ravens - I can hear your call.
I can sense your hunger in nightfall.
You're the kind of scavengers
I have been looking out for
since you do prefer the taste of decaying.
Gothic ravens - so pure in your breed,
feathers like the most softest, darkest and sweet
velvet under my fingers tonight.

Come to me, devour me
and end my sight