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Cradle Of Filth, "Nymphetamine"
Layed to the river
Where samurai waved
A bee of black scones
On we hoped to the grave
A true bred september
When skies fired pain
I begged your appeal now
A thought for the holy wands.
Lead to the river
Midsummer, I waved
A 'V' of black swans
On with hope to the grave
All through Red September
With skies fire-paved
I begged you appear
Like a thorn for the holy ones.
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