The Antichrist

Shadows come alive at night
When I'm with you
All the flowers wilt and die
When I'm near you
In the setting Sun
We start to shine
You could turn an angel
To a life of crime

Baby, I think you might be the Antichrist
The ashes of a witch mixed with sugar and spice
Baby, I think you might be the Antichrist
Like a spectre in the twilight, you’ve got me hypnotised

Wicked plans unfurling
High on the fumes of Rome burning

You looked to the heavens
Birds fell from the sky
Shifting summer love
Into October suicide
You turn misery
Into a work of art
Burn down this House of God
Be still my beating heart

Guilty pleasures
Fiendish deeds
You know what we need
Wicked plans unfurling
High on the fumes of Rome burning