You bury your Dead too shallow
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To get more flies, Pestilence and Honey
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A kindred Spirit I control your destiny
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What you smell is Fear As I cry to the Heavens
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Truth isn't what it seems It's what the Fool believes
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All the good one's are Dead And all Guilt is relative
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For the sake of Veracity I thought I had lost it all
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But these years proved otherwise So much more was taken
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Dead eyes stare back at me His promises like Honey flow
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Sweetness veils the rotting Flesh
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And steaming Stench of thousands of Graves
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What you sense is True Evil What you smell is True Fear
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What you spread is a Miasma of Flies Pestilence and Honey
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Every Headstone tells a Story Of Pestilence and Honey
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(and of even more flies) So pale the Pleasure so pale the Pain
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Because every Headstone tells a Story
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All the good one's are Dead All the good one's are Dead
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Pestilence And Honey
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Enochian Crescent |