The pimp's going round extinguishing the flame
Digging the tranches in which to bury hearts
The dim and cold climate of awareness
Where the reptiles thrive and people are made to walk the streets
This heat, the purpose, in my heart, generates, infinite, energy there's nothing to worry, share the immensity
He went round switching the people's heart's off, promising to deal with reality
we bought it, because everything seemed more bearable than immensity
. . .
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