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• Artiste: Tempest Armada (The)
• Titre: Comatopia/Dermaphoria
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INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
CORRECT: avant la correspondant ligne correcte
Autrement, nous ne pouvons les corriger pas! Merci pour votre aide.
birds slam into puddles wings pouring in arsenals of disease the stalemate of storms says i'm sick with a cure that looks like belief celestial serial killers are too squeamish to kill but mercy never knew that shadow of ours intoxicated under the influence of flames the bottle sits unopened; it's death that drops like rain pangea is restrung and odin's breath steals us from our prison's pores sedated in swarms a market of fleas claustrophobes and thieves celestial serial killers are too squeamish to kill but mercy never knew that shadow of ours intoxicated under the influence of flames the bottle sits unopened; it's death that drops like rain and i'm eyed by the eyes that i'm eyeing with mine am i born the ephemeral song of your biblical wrongs counts the strays celestial serial killers are too squeamish to kill but mercy never knew that shadow of ours intoxicated under the influence of flames the bottle sits unopened; it's death that drops like rain much too drunk with the thinking you're forgetful of blinking at the sun now it's your loss that you're lost as you cross hell's alleys where you left your cross a brain washed and fried it wrinkles and dries a derelict sage grabs at the brain and shoves it inside a heart hacked and thawed from the horrors it saw a pretense pretends there might be an end to impulsive flaw sweet monuments mourn what's ensnared in every throat we do our breathing til it gets too cold elude the air that knocks on these psychotropic doors we keep on building til it gets too old sweet monuments mourn what's ensnared in every throat we do our breathing til it gets too cold the ruins of fallen kingdoms they're waiting to break my fall intent upon the instincts content without them all the hallway ends upon a ledge the lights go on, cause life goes on begin again birds slam into puddles wings pouring in arsenals of disease the stalemate of storms says i'm sick with a cure that looks like belief celestial serial killers are too squeamish to kill but mercy never knew that shadow of ours intoxicated under the influence of flames the bottle sits unopened; it's death that drops like rain