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From this oblique matrix
He watches the plains of life
Silent are now the spirits
And the things have lost their voice.

The first born man knows and suffers.
The dead are walking
his heart with them.

The memory of darkness
Burns again
Making him the living witness
Of a collapsing universe.

The first born man knows and suffers
The dead are walking

With hands like knives
With hands like knives
With hands like knives

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