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Primitive Horses For Primitive Lyrics
When will the answers present themselves? 'Cause I've got a thousand perplexions that mold coherent questions that get lost in objective view.
(You see) I've woven a blanket with venom-soaked thread. The contact could kill if I hide in this bed. The Pendulum pulses (are) so hard to ignore, evaporating from under the floor.
Is this the end of disillusion? Whole corneas in bloom.
Be patient. Fluids have flooded the halls; dripping, decaying with echoing calls. Fear the apparent storm; poison aromas in decorative form.
These mandibles are tangible, irrelevant, and real.
Is this the end of disillusion? Whole corneas in bloom.
I've woven a blanket with venom-soaked thread. The contact could kill if I hide in this bed. My child I bet you've grown tired of me and what I assume your intentions to be.
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