Вершы:
Nick Cave The Bad Seeds Your Funeral My Trial

cracks form As I knelt to pray I did not see the crevice yawn, no Sometimes At night I feel the end it is at hand My pistol going crazy in my hand For

in whoredom ring All the crooked bitches that she was Mongers of pain saw the moon become a fang Your funeral, my trial, your funeral, my trial Your funeral, my trial