Geórgia, a carniceira
Ave Sangria
Georgia, the Butcher
Place where one enters
To the forest of carnivorous flowers
Candidates beware
Here everyone carries
Long pieces of purple velvet
Hanging from the bones
It's torn flesh
Georgia,
The butcher of the cold swamps
From the nights of the God Satan
Playing bowling with the heads
Of the dead horny girls
In the mornings of April
Solar... yeah
No one has ever seen her eyes
Two balls of blood
Rolling in space
Without falling into her arms
And then dying of love
She walks smiling
Among the planet's ruins
Unmade in a cross, in light
In mercury dust
And white wind
And cries of pain
The sun in her hands
Georgia,
The butcher of the cold swamps
From the nights of the God Satan
Playing bowling with the heads
Of the dead horny girls
In the mornings of April
Solar... yeah
