His Arch Angel Michael Twelve Stars the Sun
You know, tis somewhat easy to understand Apollyon as your
Crew holding a tad bit, in misery projecting towards an imperfect
Time but cool kids just never hold signs I mean Abaddon can't you see
Kind of like Toad The Wet Sprocket's, in the end I'm sensing a change the weather
Does anyone remember me ? Did you all think we'd just disappear ? Crazy life....
Swoosh his tail their Angels fell: metaphoric make-up twas her modern tale: sitting
Atop the sea sweet, drunken Jezabel ? Spawned his bastard Damien's, tattooed dreams
Six pence collections thrice their infections blue blood injections Legion's, special olympics
Lucifer's serpents raging towards the golden goal evanescent's mountaintop his goad keeper goblins
Pressing this matter it's silver sickle auld lang syne her bride of Frankenstein; Electra thighs, red rum wine.
|