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Strangelove

de Lebanon Hanover

Through the decadent streets
Some delicate fiends, float
From the shadows to the street light
Some faces of pale, unveil

So silent and still, I grab your scarlet hands
And I take you and hold you hard
We reach the top of this dark dark hill
And my heart rattles
Against my ribs

A misty path with frowning trees, whispering
They poke from view
Of an icy moon
And talks protrude
Of doom and gloom

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