What's with that stare? What's with that touch?
Running out of time? Keep looking at the watch?
Oh you gambit, an itch in that crotch?
Can't help yourself to pull that clutch?
Disgusted and outraged, old fool this is your doom
Where the flowers die and you perish straight in your tomb
Red will be painted with black in that room
Where you will decay in your own perfume
Oh you gambit, this is where the games will begin.
Erasing your very own grin, rummaging inside, within
This is a game you can never win
For you are screaming with perverted sin
