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Driven by consuming lunacy
I spurn the living
And seek comfort in the arms of the dead…

In the privacy of a graveyard
Surrounded by decadent symbols
And memories of meaningless lives
I take in my hands a cold corpse

Nothing better than a whore
Without sentiments

The disgust for the living
Makes me love the deceased
The coldness of their limbs
Increases the pleasure of my sin…

Nocturnal lust…
Take heed of the necrophiliac’s dream
Sick delusions of a decayed man…

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