where the air hangs like the static of a dead end radio,
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i'm waiting with a frozen pulse.
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crawl into an empty womb, don't raise these dead.
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they've found their god in soil.
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dry scab silhouette's tell the secrets of sewn mouths,
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my heart is a sore but even charred faces crack smiles.
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mismanufactured.
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screaming like some faulty machinery.
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the overwhelming inefficiency of infants.
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artificer stead me now you've sewn a machine.
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you've birthed an abortion.
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the corpse of god is love.
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i'm rotting, and i'm not yet dead.
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i'm the king of worms and i'll have your head.
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resurrected roadkill, blueprinted skin.
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i swear i've never been here before.
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everyone but me looks like they've seen a ghost.
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all eyes fall on collapsing statues.
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stop pointing. stop laughing.
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there's nothing to see here.
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everybody try to relax.
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everybody please remain calm.
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(i'm not supposed to be here anyway)
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divinity doesn't show what the stables hold.
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the scalpel proves my faith when he spits through his words.
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we traitors share our strings.
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we're suffocating under makeshift skin.
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pull out the thread, sew on a heart, make peace with dirt.
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-----------------
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Pincushion
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Every Time I Die |