Monday, 22 December 2008
By Nine Inch Nails
It starts with peaceful images,
Sunny hillsides, musical brooks;
Nature bathed in golden halos,
What could set the mind more at ease?
Then suddenly, a twist of fate, a turn for the worst-
Light turns grey, dingy and dirty,
as rainclouds swallow the sky.
Golden halos have mutated into crimson hues,
Bloody placentas, death bags wrapped around throats;
Tie them tighter, squeezing off the memory of peace,
serentity, and bliss - Welcome to the land of the dead.
Rotting, decaying corpses death march all around,
Encircling for the kill, cutting off any escape;
This is what they mean when they say
dirty pleasures are anyone's greatest sin.
"My Bitter Sweet Dreams Become My Nostalgic Nightmares Everytime."