| My goal is fear, and the devil makes my fee
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| We are royal races, my music is burning down the streets
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| The closer the enemy, the darker the night becomes
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| Whoever gets up at dawn will be the last to laugh
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| Spit ash on the scene, evil in shape, chase the street through the vein
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| Bullets fall like rain, blood stains the area
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| The black market at your feet, invite you to misery here
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| The dark is my space, dogs bark through the fence
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| Everything beautiful is behind, only scratches on my tree
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| Turn up the music, the blades will carve
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| The walls here are grey, look, the branch is struck by lightning
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| Show only what is necessary, my fans are killing themselves, Gothic people hear me
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| In the board game, the glass moves without hands, if enough tears fall, it's mine
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| Ritual over
|
| Stop the time, the night spits out the seeds
|
| Play the board game in the glass house
|
| The widows weave their grid on the work
|
| Beware, here comes 36 Massaka
|
| Stop the time, the night spits out the seeds
|
| Play the board game in the glass house
|
| The widows weave their grid on the work
|
| Beware, here comes 36 Massaka
|
| Smuggle poison into your district, everything that lives dies
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| It doesn't matter who you are, but what's going to happen outside
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| But sin deceives, everything withers and perishes
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| Eyes open, but are blind, lambs follow the shepherd
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| Alucard sits within me, but he does not rest
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| First comes the ebb, then every tide is black
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| Mirror, mirror, tell me what my curse is
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| No matter where I've been, my fortune telling is bloody
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| Spirit is strong, flesh is weak, everyone carries their blood
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| The owl stays on the roof, death comes out of the house
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| Have only kindling and make gold on the stone
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| First through the winter and off through the meat grinder
|
| Stop the time, the night spits out the seeds
|
| Play the board game in the glass house
|
| The widows weave their grid on the work
|
| Beware, here comes 36 Massaka
|
| Stop the time, the night spits out the seeds
|
| Play the board game in the glass house
|
| The widows weave their grid on the work
|
| Beware, here comes 36 Massaka |