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The wounds are leaking fluids
through a pale existence
The atmosphere holds the heart
Is the black dam that subdues the
A downward slope to the

lies the story of our decay
Ripe and complete, so it now
The mouth, the withered tongue
The crests on the to the archives

The scented words, sent the distance
They pare the
Coating the in between the bricks
was no gold in the rivers

The vault
The red sun is trapped
In the quiet room, the sound of the nervous pulse
The walls in
You coil around the earth
A downward slope to the