Whitechapel - A Bloodsoaked Symphony

My conscious froze when I felt the cold embrace of the hand that crafted me
I set my soul ablaze, I crawled through the nether and left a suicide letter next to my own severed head
I think I should be dead but that's the beauty of selling yourself to sin
But again, we are men craving winter's end
Wishing to live within our origin again
The door to immortality is shut
I can't take much more of the scent of mold
This sphere of madness burning in my gut
Has trapped me in this house again