Idols Of Chagrin — текст песни (Celtic Frost)

What kind of race, lack of direction
Just how lunatic, to have a nature so deceit
Bewail my reverie, a gambol untried
Lure of carnality and silence in forfeit
Animals, enslaved to pearls of fictionalized worth
Creatures, born from caves into simulated mirth
I`m talking, Idols of Chagrin
Born of possession, complacement in disguise
Craving and candid, as to defy the character`s fall
The kisses you drain, pedestrian pedigree
What`s thought is pain might be desire after all