标题:Behold the White Whore
艺人:The Jonbenet
作词:on vocals bar
作曲:Jonbenét
制谱人:By Shane
指示:listen to the tab, then play whatever you want, or don't. Whatever.
节拍:
Moderate ♩ = 142
音轨:
-
Vocals Standard Tuning - 合成主音5（吉他） Lead 5 (charang)
-
Guitar 1 - 高音刷音 Scratch 2
-
Guitar 2 - 失真音效吉他 Distortion Guitar
-
Bass - 拨片拨电贝司 Electric Bass(pick)
-
Drums - 敲击乐器
注释:
Vocals are muted
The speakeasy
par-
lour
was
filled
with
man-
y
a fair
la-
dy.
Fallen victim
to another
mind
rape
by
their
Christian
fa-
ther-
suh.
It was
never
easy
to
show
that
I
loved
them.
he said, ya he said
as he was
removed from the booth.
no-
one
had
the
time
to
listen to him.
They don't
care.
It
wasn't
his
thing to
talk
like
that.
Waking
up
the
next day.
In
a
nightmare
of
a
grey
coloured
room
full
of friends.
With no
names
and
met-
al
as
cold
as
cold as
hell.
This was just another
favourite of his.
Concious
effort
was put into
every-
thing
that
he
didn't
do.
And everything else
was
a
failed
plan.
Why didn't this work.
Why didn't this
work.
If
only
grati-
tude
could
get you
somewhere.
If
only
gratitude
could get you some-
where.
Censor his bleeding hands
bro-
ken
teeth
and
blood
red
hair.
This is his love
to
them all.
Yet another
day
blessed
with
his
pres-
ence.
Continue
to beat
him.
This
is
his
love.
Censor his bleed-
ing
hands
bro-
ken
teeth
and
bright red
hair.
and this is
his
love.
Not another
day
blessed
with
his
pres-
ence.
Continue
to beat
him.
This
is
his
love.
Coughing
up
his
mothers
love all
ov-
er
a
plate of
re-
fur-
bished or-
ga
ni
sms.
This
is
love.
Coughing
up
his
mothers
love all
ov-
er
a
plate of
re-
fur-
bished or-
ga
ni
sms.
This
is
love.
Oh
Mother
Ma-
ry
forgive
them.
For
they have
won.
They
Have
won.
Oh
Moth-
er
Ma-
ry
forgive
them.
For they
have won.
They
have
won.
Spoken
fast
enough
to
spark a memory into
every-
ones
tired
mind.
Built
a-
pon
a
cross
of
clothes
and
thorns
of
wrin-
kled
scar-
ves
and
hung from the ceiling
and
sent
to
every
childs
living
room.
Built
a-
pon
a
cross
of
clothes
and
thorns
of
wrin-
kled
scar-
ves
and
hung from the ceiling
and
sent
to
every
childs
living
room.
De
pictions of life
as
told
by a
subdued
body
within
us all.
We aren't
loved
anymore.
Behold
the
white whore.
De
pictions of life
as
told
by a
subdued
body
within
us all.
We aren't
loved
anymore.
Behold
the
white whore.
De
pictions of life
as
told
by a
subdued
body
within
us all.
We aren't
loved
anymore.
Behold
the
white whore.
De
pictions of life
as
told
by a
subdued
body
within
us all.
We aren't
loved
anymore.
Behold
the
white whore.
Behold
the
white whore.
Behold
the
white whore.
Vocals are muted
