The Cold Room

This is the place
The land of the unclean
Where we sate
With our brains
Just by the pile of bones
The reason
Is the dying fever
The only
The slayer of the few
We the slayer
You the prey
This is where the living turn to dead
Where constricted souls meet the worms inside their rotting heads
No one finds an open door again
Locked forever onward to the everlasting end
When giving up becomes the only choice
You can only have one
The other end burns
Stick the needle in
It's time to feed
Trigger life
The screaming sigh
The gripping on
You pray
You will die
You are the one
The only
The slayer of the few