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by Xahir
Rated: ASR · Other · Occult · #1011809
To name some rights on life where we forgot
Dust blew around to dare
Mystic Prophecy
Figures it drew in senseful bare
To false
Nifty blasphamy

Its breem doth shall become thy grave
It seems to me in last rocks
My protuding tombstone
Body just a slave

To narrate tounge's tallest tales
To manfactor malighned rusted boulders
To fetch off grim's baton for justice
Rotating in their acustomed slander

Less he spoke of terror and plunder
Word of gothic operational surrender

The wistles from viking
And the word form my king
The fear must i conquer
The fear shall i kill
Against thier will
I shall cut thier carpels
And offer mine
The blood

It shone in pride covered to thighs
The rest was burned and sexed in hay
The winters had it weak and shallow
The summers burned his will to mellow
It burned in lilting puzzles and chases
Running acroos the bridges and mazes
Locking its will in its loveliest presense
Eager and jumping
Never did it cry

Now ir runs in revolutions of crazies
Narrations and lyrics of dictated prograssion
If I were to be a falling sensation
I could deliver the praiseful donations

I seek though my pleasure
The rest i must purge
In this search
I had lost nothing
It just felt bad

Now its time to run into my wild
Like jest must flourish and die
Nowhere around me to sinfuly bribe
Static weivers on neglected child

In my restful
In my peaceful
In my regretful





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