| I drank a goblet of fire…
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| I cut out the prophets tongue…
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| but still, the sun refused to move.
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| I tore a hole in the web of sanity…
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| the very fabric of life itself…
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| but still, this flesh refused to burn.
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| «what a humble vision!
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| to forever dwell by the grace of the sun…»
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| I gathered the moon and the stars…
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| in my little pouch of planets…
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| the renaissance of astral flesh.
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| dripping and drolling with universal thirst…
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| equilibrium going under…
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| in such an idle state of death.
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| sowing the seeds of a new dimension…
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| I am the conqueror in his petty paradise…
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| spinning around in garden of lush blooming death,
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| point at the sun, and I will be there…
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| and the angels, scattered and bleeding…
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| will be the foundation of my empire…
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| and admidst all this forlorn beauty…
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| …I still laughed at the end. |