The Devil Wears Prada — Who Speaks Spanish, Colon Quesadilla

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This cold floor we know too well
Hearts poisoned with pride
Black blood dotting our warmth
Ending our contentment

This place is a contorted altar
I must seek strength from somewhere
For I’ve reduced myself to nothing
We’ve been here one thousand times
Cold idle hands, floor-welcomed knees

Hello Autumn, I need not your companionship
Doubtless I stand
Laying my heart into the hands of eternity
Revive me doctrines!

Await the day, when all our blood will wash away
The world’s balance I’m too familiar with
Selfishness outweighs generosity

Lips bleeding with guilt
Frightful little fiends

If these words mean nothing
Then where is the conclusion?
Lyricism aside, Christ is the deduction