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All starts and ends in the womb of sinful woman The one with hair made of fire And eyes hidden under the veil of naivety Through the centuries the truth about her was defined by her capacity to procreate On the very bottom of her humanity Warm blood lies in a golden bowl Women were screaming of it men were falling for it From which blood springs hope or despair Commandments were crawling out from her womb And the night was covering them with lies Fire with charm digested her sinful body And the wind strewn about her head with the ash of her own thighs Woman - sponger Reflection of the reality Your soft hands are tools of ruin Your sinful body is a source of god I will never show my grief again Grief for primal privileges of humanity Your sanctity is an incurable disease that constrains an idea of progress Answers shall be great events and defeat of the great bastards tyrants flatterers From Letras Mania