Mane Of The Cur Portland, Oregon
On a mountain of skulls, in a castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood. What was will be, what is will be no more. Now is
the season of evil.
Like the sun dear, up on high, we'll return dear to the sky. And we'll banish the pain, don't cry. Until tomorrow, this is goodbye. Tin unicorn, upon your pillow, cast off scorn and forget tomorrow.
They've come here for my soul, but I'll keep it with me.
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