Paroles The Hunter de B. Dolan
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- Artiste: B. Dolan44172
- Chanson: The Hunter
- Langue:
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Textes et Paroles de The Hunter
Sitting up in bed when the sun sets
The room is such a mess
Keep it darker than the crypt
Rumble in my stomach
Wreak of garlic and incense
Stumble from the bed
I dreamed of monsters again
Sharpen my instruments
as part of my dilligence
Polishing springs and pins
Hardens the killer instinct
Darkness slips in.
I stalk them in the mist.
And walk the empty city
looking for my nemesis
I'm a vampire hunter. A bounty killer
I know my way around and I'm bound to deliver
I've lived among the parasites for more than half my life
Studied their evil patterns, habits and appetites
I'm a Hunter.
Land in the city with a caravan of gypsies
Who hand me crucifixes and whisper their superstition
I keep it moving in tune with the moon's position
Setup with a smooth precision,
Every night's a new mission.
I lift the lids of these stale boxes of dirt
because I put stake in heart
and faith in hard work
Now watch their snake eyes
Awake in surprise as they die
Cut out the heart and burn it at the graveside
Say goodbye.
I'm saving lives and the pay is fine, besides
The truth is I get a thrill
When it comes to the killing time
I'm a vampire hunter. A bounty killer
I know my way around and I'm bound to deliver
I've lived among the parasites for more than half my life
Studied their evil patterns, habits and appetites
I'm a Hunter.
They're not human
Not the people you remember
They are the cannibal, The beast, The undead, The predator
They are disease, They feed off death
But there's a sacred mutilation
that will lay them to rest
You need a vampire hunter, a bounty killer
who knows his way around and is bound to deliver
who's lived among the parasites for more than half his life
studied their evil habits, patterns and appetites.
"I wear my sunglasses at night,"
I don't know why
I'm just sensitive to the light
When I was young I had
such a strong sense of wrong and right
Them days are gone
Life is long, not forever
right? (right.)
These silver bullets pack a helluva bite
But I ain't never been the sucka type
(still i get bloody like)
The incident that happened down in Exeter town
Where the daughter of George Brown
wouldn't rest in the ground.
We had a posse of men,
Even the Providence Press
dug up the body
and cut out the black heart from her chest.
Less than a month later
her older brother was dead
and I was wanted by the court
to explain what I did.
So,
I ran away and hid in the next city
but something of the strange events must've stayed with me
Made me face the mirror for a moment to question
Imagine my surprise when I saw
no reflection.
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