Ah, pyrokinesis.
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Angels don't fly
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Identity crisis, music is dead
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I grab myself red-handed to slam
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Forever your dirty, spoiled mouth
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And with a garrote of roses with thorns he squeezes at the throat, so that he will definitely shut up
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And then lock your muse forever from all operettas
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Only my amulet is not your cross and frescoes
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I flew out of paradise with a bang and, burning, I poured out everything vile
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Together with absinthe into a glass and set it on fire, exclaiming
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"Burn, I beg you, burn and burn in the ashes!"
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Two years ago I was spiritually rich, but became completely poor
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For some reason, trying to find yourself where normal people don't look,
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But the train left, and it's scary that, apart from pain, nothing comes to our house
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And like a storm, my room is chaos, and the light does not pass the blockade from the curtains
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Garrote will tighten the neck, and the rose claws around the arteries to the roar of heaven
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There is no time, and there are no hopes, and there are no intentions
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I wanted to turn the whole world
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But I only turned the cross over and spat
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Wishing to choke in blood
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While making a thin incision near the arteries
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And I wanted to turn the whole world,
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But I only turned the cross over and spat
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Wishing to choke in blood
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To my rose that makes a thin incision at the arteries (Pow)
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Garrote will pull the neck
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Pull off the garrote, pull off the garrote
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Garrote will pull the neck
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The bones of my rock, decomposed into notes
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Garrote will pull the neck
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Pull off the garrote, pull off the garrote
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Garrote will pull the neck
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The bones of my rock, decomposed into notes
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Life is not noir. |
I drink liquid uranium to the bottom for your health
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Shout: "Hurrah!" |
I, apparently, will soon go in circles of hell,
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But there is no respite. |
I'm choking, swallowing poison-soaked air
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I don’t know if I’ll get in order after, but I continue to pretty force
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This is rotten art. |
I tirelessly push garbage to death
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From my mouth scolding, and they will not let me to the doors of paradise
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And everything that you, scum, lost, cannot be returned
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And I have to exchange all my work for a bottle at once
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Garrote with spikes will slide along the cervical regions
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And only the smoke here will color the space and the room in a gray tint
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I wanted to turn the whole world
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But I only turned the cross over and spat
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Wishing to choke in blood
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While making a thin incision near the arteries
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And I wanted to turn the whole world,
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But I only turned the cross over and spat
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Wishing to choke in blood
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To my rose that makes a thin incision at the arteries
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Garrote will pull the neck
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Pull off the garrote, pull off the garrote
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Garrote will pull the neck
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The bones of my rock, decomposed into notes
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Garrote will pull the neck
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Pull off the garrote, pull off the garrote
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Garrote will pull the neck
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The bones of my rock, decomposed into notes |