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Description
Droplets fall from grace at dinner and bloodshed at desert come to those who clean their plates hitting the wall spray glass all over the moon the cow chased the spoon aint silver no more can the absent receive means you must now sacrifice-ing my broken sheets of glass to super-glue is made from horses don’t have room to lay down the hole a hundred bucks tonight we feast on those who we lost the war but not the battle screams he who has hope shall perish slower than those who don’t fuck with it or you’ll infect it has too many heads to be salvation comes at a price.