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And circulates in me, circulates wildly
Worm who don’t want to die
And deeper and harder my worm’s poking
In the swamp of tomorrow
Sweating and stinking gift of life
And moon shakes when sun burns
Because the worm dull the blade
But the ashes he leaves
Bloody curtain covered with fire
And the day died
Even though the snout kept he died
Then he faded and spawn the night
That the worm could be able to dream in the darkness
Corpse light in the boiler brew

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