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-Stain-

 

 

...And he was stairing at the dance flore

With the knife throut the machine.

Hunting her face made of subconsionseness

On the lost pavement of feeled horror.

 

Man without a sin

Is the one who must die.

The one who has not resembelance

And the one who should not live.

 

Whose hipe skinned this night`s adventure?

Vankwished desert were not beneith her feeth

Shall posses what hi is, fears not

Dying for shameness, or being reborn in more horrible way?

 

Stain, whitout a sin