Prankquean

All rise
Little did I know there was want for naught

Little did I know she could smell the rot
And I need to confess
I need to confess
Little did I know there was room for loss
Little did I know I'm the albatross
And I need to confess

There are bodies under the floor
All things come in threes
Like the six on her dress of gore
Every fire lit has been started by her
Cosmic arson
Everything you taste is the flesh of a child
Killed by her

Trust her knife, though microscopic it
Hurts where you need to feel
Divine scourge and iron swords cut the
Stone made of flesh
Little did I know there was want for naught