A rumble in distance mechanical whine
Robbing pillars equivalent to graves
Black damp inhalers
So our lights can shine scrape off the epidermis
Tear down the walls faces ripped from their jaws
We incarcerate ourselves in clay filled veins
The hollow drain which echoes our pain
Than the song of a dead canary
Their is no sweeter sound Sin Remover We bare silicosis the fruits of our perseverance
Burn away slag
Bleeder entries are packed with intestines
Holds back the dream till it discharges like a gun Sin Remover
I am the Zion. We bleed of black
Extract our blood
Reclamation Shapes the face to a graven image
See the lies
As days go by
We mend our seams On wounded knees I see you pray for me.
האתר פועל ברישיון אקו"ם
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