Much, Much Less Emotionless.

Whatever you do...don't push the red button.
Now the whorror is loose, when love met destruction...
Here come the creatures, we only come out at night...
If it's dead, we'll kill it with black city lights.
Look deep into Abigail, the ghost in the mirror...
She's an infamous hatefuck, striking London in terror.
Undead ahead, lies the black damask...
Burned at both ends, are sinematic scissorhands.
We put the "fun" in funeral, destroying everything; apocolips.
And just when you thought we couldn't get any more emo...
We go and pull and a stunt like this.
Like puppets in the devil's night,
We bleed cobwebs in black and white....
Synthetic love, is our sweet, divine infection...
The seventh circle for immaculate misconception.