Womb Of Fire (Wolves in the Throne Room)

She draws her weapon elegantly and places it upon her lips Now her words shine the Red and the scent of roses Come let her take you by her little white hands And guide you to the fields of calla lilies Let the fiery reds muffle your eyes Inspect her neck and see all the precious ornaments You know you're going to be the one in the middle of her chest. The one between her breasts as she stands over you in complete confidence. There is no need for knights in shining armor They'll only rust in her water See the pilings at her feet We are expendable bags of meat Womb of Fire.