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Correction Lyrics
Preaching The Crisis Discipline
by
Nettlethrone
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In the middle of the amaranthine garden Bodies struggling to get hold of a throat To catch, cut and put a stop to this madness If only they could clutch their fingers Tombstones do not look for a name anymore The last words of the dead are long forgotten These roads become our graves And amber white lines are headstones As harmony is built upon the dead Bodies struggling to get hold of a throat To catch, cut and put a stop to this madness They know the history is written in blood They know that these killers shall not stop Neither flags nor frontiers have changed the meaning of death Blood cleanse their machine brains As they crucify each and every human being They advance, to choose their war machines once again Use the crossword and select your weapon Terror, humanity, reason, famine, democracy, degradation Shall a spark of hellfire bury the hearts bestowed
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