Archive - 08 – Pulse | Текст песни

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• 08 – Pulse

Help!
In this junk.
I'm drowning.
Drowning...

How long?
Til I sell?
My mother.
So I become,
Important to you.

In this junk,
Drowning.

How long?
Til I sell?
My mother.

Must I tolerate your shit.
Dwell in your shallow pit.
Now the thought police,
Are following me.
Everywhere...
Eyes are always,
On your children.

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