parrhesia - XVIII | Текст песни

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• parrhesia
• XVIII

Meld disillusioned thoughts evoke the cold winter's fury. Habitual candide's restless bemusement filters a trail quickly forgotten. Spitting down the bastard child's shattered spine. Longing a triumph resembles ruins. A warlord's hoarse cry echo's unanswered, Rejection, I know your breath so well. Disperse, reassemble, falter to none. Numb to an empty chest, empty limbs, clouded head, and void-filled lungs.

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