Texty:
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Father, set me free from this altar of death Dead fingers cold as ice touches my flesh As it passed through my soul and body The fear I thought was

your head Beholder of life that perished, you are living dead There is no other god, heathen children, heathen Defiled his cross hanging around your neck With blood from never concluded lives

One more dead soul, there's a hole in the sky Illuminating dream quest, the prophet's eye By virtue of madness a sign of faith Lurking at the threshold