Devirgination Studies Songtext
von Whitechapel

Now that I have my trophy, of your anatomy
Your stiff can be excised aberrantly

Convulsions, transpire, your seeping suppuration
Our intimacy is arcane to culture
These ethics I contain in my arsenal of pleasure
Fail to be appreciated

Your proposition, isn′t good
My expectations don't meet, yours


In due time I′ll dictate your vile form
Into my incapable hands and claim you for my own!

You're born, into, these hands, again!
Send the slut, back to hell
Send the slut, back to hell
Send the slut, back to hell
Send the slut, back to hell

Another whore to seek, to fondle and misuse
Back to the grave, to exhume again