time is the fire in which we burn the bitter ash and dust of hate choke what remains so don t breathe a mote about fate or faith cause those words and their toll leave so many so cold and the story s so old yet it never gets told but it s written in the scars on the wrists of the lost in the cold of life yeah my mother was raped at nine years old hoo ah i guess good ol fashioned poverty and a violent drunk of a dad was not cliche enough so fate tore away her faith on that secret day torn along with her hymen still somewhere in time there s still a little bloody girl of nine hey ma you know been burned yeah life is cold hey ma you ve screamed and somewhere lost in time you scream but life goes on yeah life goes on so life goes on knock knock who s there i ve got a little joke about the horror of the world the horror and the gag is the soul can die but life goes on hoo ah can you dig it the heart keeps beating but the blood goes cold and there s no rock bottom so welcome to the joke of un life ha ha ha hey ma i know you died so long ago hey ma now i see you re still a nine year old girl screaming but life goes on yeah life goes on so life goes on time is the fire in which we burn the heart keeps beating but the blood goes cold what do you know about horror horror