Seven Dead Orchids 歌词

	作曲 : Myrholt, Tunheim
	The vortex of addiction is out of square there are imaginary catchwords everywhere
	The ego-dolls reap the meadows of megalomania and we crave the spotlight
	An ephemeral prostitute in the centre of attention my deserted space needs another case of intervention celebrity is my speciality glamorised in fashion
	I am the mannequin to be
	Oh, sweet seventeen...her unblemished face clad in the tint of juvenile flesh seven dead orchids lay trampled and beguiled like the lust that died
	She sits astride
	The pictures my crayons painted xeroxed and airbrushed to fit admiration disguised in trivial pursuits animated to death...
	The vortex of addiction is out of square there are imaginary catchwords everywhere
	The ego-dolls reap the meadows of megalomania and we crave the spotlight...

	zuo qu : Myrholt, Tunheim
	The vortex of addiction is out of square there are imaginary catchwords everywhere
	The egodolls reap the meadows of megalomania and we crave the spotlight
	An ephemeral prostitute in the centre of attention my deserted space needs another case of intervention celebrity is my speciality glamorised in fashion
	I am the mannequin to be
	Oh, sweet seventeen... her unblemished face clad in the tint of juvenile flesh seven dead orchids lay trampled and beguiled like the lust that died
	She sits astride
	The pictures my crayons painted xeroxed and airbrushed to fit admiration disguised in trivial pursuits animated to death...
	The vortex of addiction is out of square there are imaginary catchwords everywhere
	The egodolls reap the meadows of megalomania and we crave the spotlight...

	zuò qǔ : Myrholt, Tunheim
	The vortex of addiction is out of square there are imaginary catchwords everywhere
	The egodolls reap the meadows of megalomania and we crave the spotlight
	An ephemeral prostitute in the centre of attention my deserted space needs another case of intervention celebrity is my speciality glamorised in fashion
	I am the mannequin to be
	Oh, sweet seventeen... her unblemished face clad in the tint of juvenile flesh seven dead orchids lay trampled and beguiled like the lust that died
	She sits astride
	The pictures my crayons painted xeroxed and airbrushed to fit admiration disguised in trivial pursuits animated to death...
	The vortex of addiction is out of square there are imaginary catchwords everywhere
	The egodolls reap the meadows of megalomania and we crave the spotlight...

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