| The scourge appears as a formless occurrence, an occult duskfall laid upon the
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| mind.
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| Its concept is the art of all gods' purpose and coercions, an incarceration
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| engulfing the men we were.
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| Corroborating pale progress, consuming the thoughts from the captive earth.
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| The words start interweaving, we’re deafened unconscious, with no words left to
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| whisper in the wind.
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| The pace of progress tied a blindfold to our palsied faces.
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| Yet again, its concept is the art of all gods purpose and coercions,
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| engulfing the men we were.
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| Dark earth beyond, oh Elohim descend, as you see us rot in the glow of his
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| primal deceptive light.
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| As you see us hurt ourselves in the treacherous shine of his foul miscreation,
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| Elohim descend!
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| Take this falsehood from us, and deliver us from the tentacles of the sun.
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| Corroborating pale progress, consuming the thoughts from the captive earth.
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| The words start interweaving, we’re deafened unconscious, the pale eyes
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| flickering sickness-fed. |