| The apparition of two faces in disgust
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| Invisible but yet so clear
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| Reflections seen by a fugitive
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| Trying to escape the looking glass
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| Blood runs from open wounds of false flesh
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| The one in front of the mirror exceeds the image
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| Eager to leave further but chained still
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| To crumble into such nothingness
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| A despairing fate, for your lies
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| To pretend is the lunatic’s legacy
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| Privileged to bolt the nails of heresy
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| Born lifeless into a world of coma
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| As the chronic sufferer trapped in paradise lost
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| Missing insinuations of what life was meant to be Angels and demons, a march man’s bewildering hosts
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| The charlatans and deceivers walk the line in prejudice
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| The narrow slits the veins in search for the crown
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| Profound impatience makes the blind struggle in stupidity
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| The paradox of the daily prayer, diffidence is Confiteor
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| Phenomena of ironies, cast the litany aside
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| How intelligible, blessed be the forgetful
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| Holding the banner high, unrestrained
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| Slowly abandoning the surface in contempt
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| Still in costumes to please the ways of living
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| Witnessing the details of defilement, intoxicating
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| Make sure to be pleased with the ways of your death
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| For in days of reckoning and when the twilight torn is ticking
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| Elysium is halfway and as an answer to the plea
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| You’re destined to yield fragments of Hell in return
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| Leave unnoticed with the perfect conscience
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| With the strength of the spiritual eye
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| Spirits of the token unchained and free
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| Recover from the philanthropic macabre frenzy
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| The pale dove grins, black at heart ready to flee
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| Demon to some, angel to others |