Из альбома: The Unspoken King

Your thin lips, curl, into a smile,
Which seems so bitter
Your eyes glitter, as the nectar flows

Your foresight, must be, 20, 20
For your timing, is pristine
You seem to have, chosen, the right seat

Consume, reap the benefits,
Of your, hopeless ignorance
We have, nothing left to debate,
You are, a fucking parasite

You seem to find, satisfaction,
Within, the affluence of all your na

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