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Missing Limbs

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This Place Will Become Your Tomb


Just let me know
If nowadays, the outer rounds of heaven don't
Keep up on the charm offensive anymore
Failing to remind you what you're living for
I'd give anything to borrow your indifference
I'd drink you in
To temper your belief in all my promises
To swallow my desire and choke on it

'Cause it still makes my blood run cold
To remember what they did before
The stories that you never told to me

Oh, bird, worry not
The blessings rain on battles in the heaven's arms
And my polite advances won't last for long
The eager apprehension is wearing off
I'd give anything
To balance your conviction with certainty
To fall asleep without you lying next to me
To sever my connection with everything

'Cause it still makes my blood run cold
To remember what I did before
The stories that you never told to me
And it still makes my blood run thin
To remember what you are to him
And I live like I've got missing limbs
For you

Compositor: Leo George Faulkner
ECAD: Obra #40147573

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