| Air poured, my thoughts shrouded by cloud forms
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| The land ravaged in the wake of this ground war
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| The quintessential outlaw
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| Eye of the storm, my tears fall as a torrential downpour
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| The flood, your death wish written in blood
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| I came in from the cold, clothes dripping with mud
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| Gripping a club, primitive, as Stig of the Dump
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| Swinging a punch, the bad seed pick of the bunch
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| I drink black rain, take another swig and I’m drunk
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| Taste venom on the tip of my tongue, my lips cold
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| Spitting out toxins I couldn’t dissolve or withhold
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| I never sold my soul for fool’s gold
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| So I’m still free, but too numb to feel pity
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| Some broke down, now the steel city’s a ghost town
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| Snowflakes cover the ground in white carpets
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| Seasons of espionage as time passes
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| The lion hearted, survival of the hardest artist
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| My open arms embrace darkness
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| Still craving carnage and infamy
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| But even parasites starve in this carcass of industry
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| You can see me as cynical, trapped in my own gothic vision
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| Encapsulating chaos in this composition
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| Calculated like the lies of a politician
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| Gripping the slingshot, I size up the opposition
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| I drop a match in the clouds and watch the flames rise
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| Fire water falling from these grey skies
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| To painted train lines, chrome over red brick
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| Reflective, like a gemstone in a cesspit
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| Jehst gives belief to a skeptic
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| The truth neglected like open wounds that turn septic
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| Infected by the forked tongue of a liar
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| Now my thoughts are the colour of fire
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| And my night’s spent bunnin' the kaya
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| Unspired by the freak show
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| I see ghosts dance in the trail of my weed smoke
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| My words are folklore, that survived the Cold War
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| New World Order and so forth
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| I go north, ankle-deep in snowfall
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| Leaping over dry stone walls with a holdall
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| Steam clouds rise from my fiery breath
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| It’s the last twilight before the silence of death |