The Violence Of Our Kind by Letter To The Exiles
Everything you've ever said to me;
lost and concentrated in this hate.
Unholy shepherds leading the wandering.
Look at what I've become, a ghost of what I was.
Nailing the door shut, throwing ourselves at the wall.
Wondering what has become of once holy instruments.
These are the figures of fallen hearts called home.
Everything you've ever said to me;
lost and concentrated in this hate.
Were it not for the pride of mankind
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