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Rien n'y fait

de Plebeian Grandstand
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Bleak preachers finding you bliss
Could you measure your own grave?
I will hear you out
As far as meaning is concerned
Early death surrounds us
Countdown is your fantasy's need
I've half a mind to give my last breath
Carry me with your wings
You don't want to see how empty your soul has become
Maybe I can enchanted an evil song
Where have you been all my life?
For what reasons would you grant my wishes?