The edge of continuity for dream and reality.
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Shaman is dancing his dance of death;
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the masks of the demonssurrounding me.
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This is my wedding ritual that gives the violence.
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The fog of the night, the dark water...
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to run through the expanse of light.
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The mysteries of civilizations
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that left the Earth more of ten times return to me;
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it gives no repose to me again and again.
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Standing in the forestand seeing the atricities...
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all is inside me, and it comes back in the dreams.
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The shaman dances, the masks are waiting for its demon.
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The knife is in my hand.
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The fog... will never crawl away.
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My words are devoured by the bestial of silence
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and in invisible chains shackle my moves.
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The dream continues it's gush to reality
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and the shaman drums louder the rhytm to his dance of death.
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Bestial Summoning
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Nokturnal Mortum |