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7 марта 24, 03:40
Dmitry MetalLord
Лирика : Ulcus : Cherish The Obscure : Near God - Closer To Hell
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Near God - Closer To Hell
Cherish The Obscure (2000)
Ulcus
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8 февраля 10, 22:01
Thou serpent speak nothing but lies, with thy holy infested tongues. But
thou shall never touch my spirit, thou rapist of misguided souls.
Awakening from the cursed trance. Sinning through free spirited dance. Rebel
searching for strength inside. Banished thrown out from the light.
Preach not of right and wrong. Lecture not how life unfolds. Speak not of
peace of mind. There is no truth it's not to be found.
Terror through spiritual persecution. Judging all individual solutions. But
I fear not your threat of damnation. Instead I gloat of your pity pray for
salvation
Preach not of right and wrong. Lecture not of how life unfolds. Speak not of
peace of mind. There is no truth it's not to be found.
A prisoner of belief in hot red sand. Trapped in the desert, no sight of
moist land. Self-contradiction is the water that keeps you alive. But it
tastes so bitter, the drops that dry out your faith.
The thought of nothingness frights you. A darkness where no one listens to
your twaddle. A solitude place, that never ends. But you're prepared, cause
you're already dead.
thou shall never touch my spirit, thou rapist of misguided souls.
Awakening from the cursed trance. Sinning through free spirited dance. Rebel
searching for strength inside. Banished thrown out from the light.
Preach not of right and wrong. Lecture not how life unfolds. Speak not of
peace of mind. There is no truth it's not to be found.
Terror through spiritual persecution. Judging all individual solutions. But
I fear not your threat of damnation. Instead I gloat of your pity pray for
salvation
Preach not of right and wrong. Lecture not of how life unfolds. Speak not of
peace of mind. There is no truth it's not to be found.
A prisoner of belief in hot red sand. Trapped in the desert, no sight of
moist land. Self-contradiction is the water that keeps you alive. But it
tastes so bitter, the drops that dry out your faith.
The thought of nothingness frights you. A darkness where no one listens to
your twaddle. A solitude place, that never ends. But you're prepared, cause
you're already dead.
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