Photo: Eric Ostermann
'll be master of death in this empty city , will be the master
no injuries waking dreams where ,
king of these barren wastelands, a spectrum of this sewer
gemida .
'll be pounding the trail of blood on every corner, a heart
shrapnel initialed every ruin, you'll
horror will be grave, you will not smell the breeze, you'll
night without setae, without spices, without poetry ,
Cain will be the night in a thousand nights.
Wind
no injuries waking dreams where ,
king of these barren wastelands, a spectrum of this sewer
gemida .
'll be pounding the trail of blood on every corner, a heart
shrapnel initialed every ruin, you'll
horror will be grave, you will not smell the breeze, you'll
night without setae, without spices, without poetry ,
Cain will be the night in a thousand nights.
Wind
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