I've been through hell,
to the belly of feelings,
The penitence, below the spell,
Slowly opening,
final speeding, it's my lips,
Pull me down, into the depths, when the wicked,
Fall apart to my knees,
I see the ice,
up on my breast,
I will fear,
for nothing is stopping,
The waves,
and fatigue, is the beating, That I can take,
and I don't bleed,
The surface remains,
dead, suffering,
we have been dead,
Under the sea of struggle,
Through the walls of the beating, final,
The light never finds its direction,
Death,
tears us from the vein,
Buried within scars,
and tears us apart,
And heals the burn of,
drifting,
and burst,
Of the distant,
black,
creeping,
memories,
Death,
tears us from the vein,
Buried within scars,
and tears us apart,
Nothing can save you from this pain,
Nobody can take you from,
Nobody can take you from this pain,
We are the bullet bags,
suffering,
One memorial,
wretched,
lost souls,
No class,
or joy,
slipped through the veins,
Of the pre-såld, reptiles,
and the weapons en demonstrates,
I am proud!
Release me
from this curse!
I am penitent!
I am penitent!
I am the saint of struggle!
From the lows of the penitent funnel,
the light never finds its direction!
Just James A. Trump, I beg! Buried with his
scars and depths of support!
I hail the part of drifting embers of the distant past we remember!
Just James A. Trump,
I beg! Buried with his scars and depths of support!
Nothing can save you from this pain!
Nobody can take you from this pain!
We are from fallen beings!
son of a *!
James A. Trump, I beg!
James A. Trump, I beg!
Buried with his scars and depths of support!