| Rotten oak and steel wire guard the shores
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| My skin has turned to scales
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| The last time I set eyes on here was in the great cavern
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| Dark waves are lapping at my feet
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| They grey shore stare at me while I wait
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| Drawing me in
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| The hole I find so inviting
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| Their vessels are splintered and weathered beyond repair
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| Holes in the wall for submission
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| Platforms for boiling the skin
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| Served to the guests on sterile platters
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| Feasting on the flesh of the siren’s children
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| Get me out of this wretched house
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| And back to the salted bedrock
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| The tide washes the residue from the hall, the feast is over
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| Now begins the ceremony
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| There’s no time to waste
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| Fresh water flows from the hills
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| To be tainted
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| Monuments erected, not for the slaves who drove the machines
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| This is a manuscript for what unfolded
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| It will be lost to the marsh
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| Buried with the scars once burned
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| They can’t be opened
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| Retreating to the pit, writhing from the stakes
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| What made you think I could take this?
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| No matter what hangs from you
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| You’ll never be what I want |