Lyrics

The past affair says it's a slip
Lay close, lay close
Drum up a fever in your pulse
Holy results

Oh...
No no, creatures!
Ah...
No no, creatures!

It is the ritualistic sort
The ceiling caught
To cut metallic bodies up
It starts and stops

Oh...
No no, creatures!
Ah...
No no, creatures!

Oh the feverish incline
The ritualistic kind
The composites now cut
Metallic bodies bind
No no creatures