Devirgination Studies - Whitechapel

Now that I have my trophy of your anatomy

Your stiff can be excised aberrantly

Convulsions transpire you're seeping suppuration

Our intimacy is arcane to culture

These ethics I contain in my arsenal of pleasure

Fail to be appreciated

Your proposition isn't good enough

My expectations don't meet yours

In due time I'll dictate your vile form

Into my incapable hands and claim

You for my own

You're born into these hands again

Send the same back to hell

Send the same back to hell

Send the same back to hell

Send the same back to hell

Another wude to seek to fondle and misus

Back to the grave to exhume again