Ideally, well, obviously If you want to kill a child You should know its name Because it's only polite It's only polite It's only polite But in the end, what is a name But mirrors and smoke? In the tongue of Saturnalia Our house is Sleep of Death In the shadows, now and forever Silently we lie in slumber Our name, our name is pain Our name is pain And the voices of the shadows Shadows gathered like the dead Metaphorical illusion Summoned by the need A desperate need to create Our name, our name is pain