Nothing is parallel or can be paralleled

Even when it is compounded, and expounded inside

It rages loud but gently in rib cages,

Behind hushing skinny fingers

Its beauty is too great, its beauty belongs to us

The formers, the creators of this place

We are the damned, we were the great

Oh the facade, it is all a facade they mimic the art

But can you take the cut, bleed ...

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