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Woorden: Tad Morose. Undead.

Empty shelves, hollow corridors A daunting smell, never felt before
Compassion breaking down In time we lose ourselves, anyway

A strange emotion fill the air The second seal, cracked up, unfair I force
the needle through my spine No savior burning, hammer on...

Still chained to the world Oh, our circle still turns

It's not fair, it's not fair undead