| Songs made of whispers
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| Silent screams, like a choral of the dead
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| Needles prick the softest skin
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| And the breeze screams bloodlust
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| These eyes gazing over the hilltops, burning red
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| The night skies seem to follow me
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| Blanketing me with crowds of grey and black
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| The crowd of the damned screams
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| Eyes shown red, raise the dead
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| Eyes shown red, raise the dead
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| Eyes shown red, raise the dead
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| The breeze screaming
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| Over the whispers in the dark
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| Setting the leaves in sway
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| Hanging there like a body from the rafters
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| Smiling back at me
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| Eyes shown red, raise the dead
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| Eyes shown red, raise the dead
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| Eyes shown red, raise the dead
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| They wait in eager circles for me
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| To stagger into the darkness
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| These images that I have seen
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| They still burn inside of me
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| They still burn inside of me
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| They still burn in me |