| Word wielder of truth and great renown
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| The spitting image of a thousandfold denial
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| Are you waging warfare here
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| By the ashes n bones of what you see?
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| See, the sacrilege isn’t you digging the soil
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| But the exhibit — over used and abused
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| By the little ones who all claim the throne
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| With a cruel tool that tears the rift apart
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| And now by the sign of the certain sacrifice
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| Little crooked bad beings with envious eyes
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| Are finding their serpent souls
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| In the shallow certified throes
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| Of those to come undone
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| All revel in the flesh so freshly cut
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| From all them bare bones barely bought
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| Still ripped and taught by the true fire
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| Crossed and pissed and devoured
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| The «menace» roars
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| The «menace» cries
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| Adrift together in tantric fires
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| From an age gone sour
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| Devoured in an instant and final hour
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| Oh to be the one when the time has come
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| To usurp that rule, have you undone!
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| True to those of callous souls
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| Are you all but born to what’s foretold
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| In old parental tomes?
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| Torn in unopposed gullible homes
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| Another one cloaked in predated attire
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| Secondhand smoking in the fire
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| Turning tricks that sticks to well
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| Practiced grand designs
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| Mimic and shadow of the great divide
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| Come! |
| I’ll lead you thru this cleansing fire
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| And if not for what’s inside that mine
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| At least to track down the crooks
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| Bent on pantomime
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| A fine day for a cleansing of the lines
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| A fine day celebrating in the dark
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| The grand theology
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| The day that cannot be
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| Belied, derived from tides of ruthless pantomime
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| Go forth thru blood and fire
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| Knee deep, never tire
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| Be warned, deformed old relics of Everscorned
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| So mimic of the great divide, I’ll lead you thru this cleansing fire |