It feels at may five, eighteen ninety seven
Overcast sky paint your wine heaven
Is "golden mediasch", whispering blurred reflections
Of what you want to believe, but you can't feel

There is no life in this body
You're nothing lifeless, soulless
Hated, feared and dead to all the world that you loved
That, ironically, you killed
to immortalize your living

That's transilvania suicide machine
Walking quickly and painlessly
Your transilvania suicide machine
Adorable illusion of necessity

The paralyzing gaze scans your bowels
As much as smiling you pretend
You may see your inner monster
You've worked hard to live with him

But the disappointment is suffocating you
Even if you do not breathe or dream
The desire is greater than all this consumed
Dry throat, and you just can't scream

That's transilvania suicide machine
Walking quickly and painlessly
Your transilvania suicide machine
Adorable illusion of necessity

That's transilvania suicide machine
Walking quickly and painlessly
Your transilvania suicide machine
Adorable illusion of necessity

Nothing
No life, no soul
Just hated
Just go

You loved
You killed

Adorable illusion of culpability!

You loved
You killed

Transilvania suicide machine

Transilvania suicide machine

Transilvania suicide machine