Number 12 Looks Like You (The)
Jesus And Tori
The soiled ground for the sacrifice Dispelled, crippling, faulty holyland. I am your martyr, your stigmata The tears turn to blood beneath my eyes. My body listens as you whisper My fingers bend as I'm nailed to your cross. The splinters etch hearts in my back I denounce this crucifixtion, I demand another sacrifice. A cast shadow over this narrow hill Pulling my fingers from these nails There will be no use for a second coming
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