Even when her sight it is Angry, It´s still beatiful.
But the living lines are in the denial, baking the noise.
Misfortune and tired, the clocks are dying.
Flickering tires, the loop are very sided.
The body is on the road.
White sheet above.
No one is listening his bloody soar.
Wood on my arms, The scapegoat are flying.
Spining the lies, everyones talk like they know it all.
Sourrounded times, Shapes of black.
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