Eyes on strings
pull hearts on
they say everything is connected
softly teasing tug
and slowly we slip
but I know I'm slipping
I can see you pull
the puppetmasters walk among us
they are thieves
murder, murder
my heart crys
how can I reast
untill they die
the slow process of decay,
or the open space
where the wall longed for it's builder
they walk in through that every day void
and the shrine is established
and somewhere, deep in shaddow
a weak broken vocie,
wispers,
"Abomination of Desolation"
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