Beyond what is left, turn right behind what you hide, low is your ego to the echo of the tides. Magnetic Moon, am i drawn, am i made of clay, should i go or should i pray. Ripped and torn, death can not be reborn. Spasms of lust, erupt just just, i am thrust into the dust, that is a must must. Darker than black, ash black, cuts ribbons of peace inside my mind, i am lost, i am found, but i am out of time. Swerve by the swirl, at the speed of a spiral dial, dive deep and rise steep, what was planted was not a seed, i sowed the creeper of creeps, the sign signalled, sickle to your soul, in for a reap.
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