"Evil? Who, me? You think so? Let's see
People wanna judge—shortsighted at best
But what do they know about me?
Just look at your grudge, forget the rest;
You don't feel the debauchery?
If the eyes are the mirror to the soul, then I'm sold, so—
Oh, you got more to say?
Then spit it out, feel it loud
Go ahead, ask away

Love? In this life? Passion? Yeah, right
Ideals are cheap, takes a poor soul to fall for 'em
Poorer still to creep
'Cause the world, this house, the bed you sleep
All of it's corrupt
Erupt, down to the core, dirty hands for dirty love
Searching for some kinda carnal release

We're all rotten undernearth, down to the bone
Inside of you, inside of me
Then again, no doubt it's hot
I'm into that kind of thing!"

( Parade's Lust )