Texty písní Psyclon Nine Crwn Thy Frnicatr Flesh Harvest

Flesh Harvest

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They have no more power
They have no room to deflower

To end the fear, to end this pain
We must cleanse this earth with the sulphur and rain
Still you're all waiting for perdition's son
Who needs your fucking god when I've got my gun?

Forget flesh harvest

That which brings us to our knees will separate our fantasies
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