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I saw my eyes flood with bile
Susceptible mind so easily scathed
Entrails burning with gangrene
And angst builds the devil's spider nest
The world of ghosts is not closed for us
Yet we dwell in bardo with outstretched arms
Bowing our heads as we wait to be baptized
In a great lake of gloom
In the black bile cold and dry
Filled with excess filled with angst
Melancholic waiting for mercer
Soaked in black bile cold and dry

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