| At times my empty and tangled eyes betray
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| To believe this I need more than mere faith
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| In this cold and desolate ward of mind
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| Intoxicated truth I bear inside
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| At times this shattered being is lost
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| For it all is gone I’ve sharpened the blade in my dreams
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| In alteration I have broken old entities
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| In a kind of mental subtraction
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| Everything fades and everything dies for a while
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| Come my fierce and lonely grave
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| Enter my bleeding dreams
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| Come and be where it all ends
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| Everytime when I surge inside
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| The bleaker desire, more painful demise
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| For aeons I’ve worn black spirit disguise
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| For all things to come I shiver inside
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| To taint the world with blood at times
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| This shattered being is lost
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| This endeavour is not worth all esteem
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| As a birthmark I’m stained with number 13
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| For a desolate mind can’t be divine
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| All illusions can’t last more than for a while
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| Carved is a number into my skin imprisoned in all these cages |