Mystical.

When she sings, infatuated
Feelings can not be satiated
Thus we both grow frustrated
Her voice has us castrated

Like a machine, we are
DEFRIBULATED

Death will become us.

Her eyes wear an endless trip
From her sharpened glass we sip
Words divide us from her lips
And at our hearts she always rips

Like a machine, we are
DEFRIBULATED
Death will become us.

No more we will be slaves to her
Lead our own lives and nothing more
Women are just overated
Nothing more than DEFRIBULATED


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