[Lyrics: Ole Alexander Myrholt]
[Music: Tony Eugene Tunheim]

Already wounded... I wonder if I would dare to be stabbed by the thorns of virtue
Such a sight, petite and illegal... a specimen of beauty in shapeless splendour
Haunted by her image in blank dismay, I kiss and embrace the dreaming adventure
Of the dainty, delusive doll...
Seeping into the tunnel of reality...

The savage beast of lust mock-manly rearing its deceitful head
With 666 tattooed upon its bleeding chest
Virtue seems like a sheer waste of flesh, I smolder like a fucking cigarette
She bestow me the poet's beauty of phrase, oh, I ejaculate...

The vortex of addiction is out of square
There are imaginary catchwords everywhere
The vortex of temptation gently blows
The ego-dolls reap the meadows...

...Of megalomania...

Profoundly wounded... I still wonder during my frequent strolls to this rendezvous
Such a sight, so pristine... a specimen of beauty in sheer fucking grace
Haunted by her image, spread eagle on my bed, I need some pills to kill the pain
I need some pills to absorb the impression of the dainty, delusive doll

...Sleeping into the coma of reality

The savage beast of lust mock-manly rearing its deceitful head
With 666 tattooed upon its bleeding chest
Virtue seems like a sheer waste of flesh, I smolder like a fucking cigarette
She bestow me the poet's beauty of phrase, oh, I ejaculate...