Bitter aftertaste of every exploitation chokes me like a mouthful of spiders
Crawling in or out I don't know, but I kneel to the gods of nausea
In moments of reflection upon what I stole from a fifteen year old girl
And not even a thousand seasons of rain could wash my leprosy from her body
Crawling in or out I don't know, but I kneel to the gods of nausea
In moments of reflection upon what I stole from a fifteen year old girl
And not even a thousand seasons of rain could wash my leprosy from her body
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