You try to allure us in scarlet.
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A killing time for the disposable and deceived.
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From this cup is the blood tainted by the formation of depravity.
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Dieting on our new wine.
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What a mystery you have become.
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Captivating us by the savor from the golden cup.
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We are left drunk with a new doctrine.
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Your prostitution will collapse that which makes us your harlot's embrace.
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I decline this bitter taste.
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Our lamps lie half empty, yet we will refuse and watch you burn.
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The Whore's Trophy I
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Symphony In Peril |