Thinking Plague - Consolamentum | Текст песни

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• Thinking Plague
• Consolamentum

Place your hands on this body,
that it be ready when morning brings
the end of days.

Consolamentum
the world cannot touch me
now.

This flesh is not a temple,
rather a prison cell.
Now, we cast it off.

Consolamentum
I hear the hammers bang
...morning comes

Consolamentum
the fires light the way.

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