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The winds of death have blown the ashes from my urn |
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Nary a glance cast back, my rotted tomb of flesh was burned |
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Unfolding corridors towards twisting fractal zones |
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Emerging from their depths, Insectoid Masters chant their eerie tones |
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Looking back into your world Through ectoplasmic gaze |
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I see naught but a masquerade In which you're pawns & cogs & slaves |
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We hate the living, You disgust us with your fears |
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Deny & lie, oh, how you try, |
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Come time to die you'll find me waiting here... |
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Lead: "Ancestral Choirs In the Night" by Bruss |