Αναρτήσεις
My less than skin dressed in these works
Damn your God, you said.
Bris milah of the tongue
who will wash the pride off that?
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We've faced each other hole to hole
now play along
I'm not dry from anger behind the wall
our lands are not cascading.
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The tail of the day is blinding
there is a never-ending death in the room.
Damn my God well then
damn yours too.
