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Will you make me God ? Hmm-hmm, how bad I wish to be.
To be worshipped, satanic desires, beneath the pretty smiles.
Angels and dust, nor wings can over-come. The heart-less mind.
Of our desires, creating the mold, we hold in contempt the attitude.
Of the lost eyes, whose wondering legs, fell and broke. Silence.
For our skin's glow, an aroma of honey, there, we bake our sins.
Through glory we injure the shadows, and death is brough up it's jealousy.
As a punishment to me, I'll seek my un-desires, on them, as light.
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