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Mar 2018
I swear to a God that does not exist
That I would never lie to you
This art is my body and my blood
Your Jesus would never have given to you

My sickness and my depth
A tomb of blackened whispers
Screams of death
Drowning lungs in a fit of smoke
My words won't rescue
They'll grab you by the throat

I care not
When angels meet their fate
Intrinsic
to a world that loves to hate
Despair
is quite a pleasure
For a ******* to create
The roof the fiddler played on
Written by
The roof the fiddler played on  28/M/Minnesota
(28/M/Minnesota)   
  357
     ---, emnabee and Nayana Nair
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