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Its name mocks its silence |
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A worthless beast born to violence |
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Has ears and whiskers flapping |
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As its yellow flesh comes slapping |
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Across the rank filth of this ancient subterranean floor |
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Its hate knows no bounds |
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As its home knows no sounds |
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But the SLAMMING |
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CRASHING |
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SPLATTING |
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OF ITS YELLOW FLESH |
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I am the herald of light |
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I withdraw a shining glory |
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A single loving-end of story |
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The only weakness, a grace like wings |
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My bow, SINGS! |
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UNLEASHED! |
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And in the silver light |
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My arrows take the flight |
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UNLEASHED! |
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Splits Pols Voice's head |
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And spills his thoughts and dreams |
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UNLEASHED! |
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A host of slapping bodies |
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Comes crashing to my feet |
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NEAT! |
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A host of slapping yellow bodies comes crashing in crimson piles |
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A host of slapping yellow bodies comes crashing in crimson piles |
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A host of slapping yellow bodies comes crashing in crimson piles |
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A host of slapping yellow bodies comes crashing |
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RUNNING AWAY |
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RUNNING AWAY |
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RUNNING AWAY from your own voice |
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RUNNING AWAY |
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RUNNING AWAY |
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RUNNING AWAY from Pols Voice |
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RUNNING AWAY |
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RUNNING AWAY |
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RUNNING AWAY from your own voice |
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RUNNING AWAY |
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RUNNING AWAY |
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RUNNING AWAY from Pols Voice |
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SILENCE! |
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SILENCE! |
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SILENCE! |
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SILENCE! |