Claim Culture - American Ritual | Текст песни

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The kerosine holy water saturated and wine washed lips, no afterlife smut nor elegant bound page will save you. Discharge a tenth to supply nepenthe, lower your head down. A confession: the dust can dance but it too will settle. Old beds that hosted our sleep, those things a waif could reach, did a swear pass the meaning? What prayers were they leaving? An early grin, warm, wrapped in faith will lay me down. Are we born again? Convince yourself the air will change.

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