Texty písní Death Individual Thought Patterns Out Of Touch

Out Of Touch

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Trapped in a lost world
of brutality.
So weak are the ones that
must rely on shock.
To push this so called force
that inspires their call.
To be extreme so it seems is a
mental crutch.
To cover up for those that are
completely out of touch.
Say what you want, I know
the truth when it comes to
your kind.

In time we'll see who lasts.
In time you will disappear.
Who are you to question my
sincerity.
For now you are high on
yourself.
Drowning in your dreams of
misguided hope.
To be extreme so it seems is a
mental crutch.
To cover up for those that are
completely out of touch.
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