Letra de Nerve Bending
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["Hope in reality is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of man." - F. Nietzsche]
A slow aching, bled dry of pain.
A slow aching, bled dry of pain.
The pace of life sedates the sane.
Lure me into the fury of absence,
let my train of thoughts collide.
In a trance of confidence,
stirring up, I breathe cyanide.
Drawn in my horns, a stabwound slow-dance.
Holding on to a dog's fair chance.
A slow aching, bled dry of pain.
The pace of life sedates the sane.
I myself, I am a cold element,
but I contain a living flame.
Fading in, fading out,
last visit for a long time.
While a legend lingers,
we pine away, into clime.
The wish is father to the thought,
the thought is father to the truth.
Ignite the imagination and take it far away.
I grieve over things that end,
nothing in line to succeed them.
They become a part
of the horrors I hold in my heart.
Neatly pealed all layers off,
searching a stain to expose,
lay bare imperfection,
grow aversion, then dispose.
Now your self is bare,
in an instant flare,
if you have tears,
cry elsewhere.
Lure me into the fury of absence,
let my train of thoughts collide.
In a trance of confidence,
stirring up, I breathe cyanide.
Drawn in my horns, a stabwound slow-dance.
Holding on to a dog's fair chance.
A slow aching, bled dry of pain.
The pace of life sedates the sane.
I myself, I am a cold element,
but I contain a living flame.
Fading in, fading out,
last visit for a long time.
While a legend lingers,
we pine away, into clime.
The wish is father to the thought,
the thought is father to the truth.
Ignite the imagination and take it far away.
I grieve over things that end,
nothing in line to succeed them.
They become a part
of the horrors I hold in my heart.
Neatly pealed all layers off,
searching a stain to expose,
lay bare imperfection,
grow aversion, then dispose.
Now your self is bare,
in an instant flare,
if you have tears,
cry elsewhere.
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