Leaking like a blown up sewer
Wanting but can't be reading
All the good things become the fewer
My guts are boiling acid
Emotions are running loose
The mind remains flaccid
Picking flowers to braid a noose
Hunting people, saving things
Trapped in a room with truth
Death comes crying as bells will ring
Righteous murderer, who lets you choose
The son of guilt will be the herd
The blood runs down from the moon
'Cause someone must grasp the reins
And bring all hell down on you
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