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Текст: Architect's Eye. Motel Architecture. Thorns.


there is no heaven above my shoulders
i'm lost for this
no angel watching over my sleep
and i'm lost for this
your breast is tied in thorns
teardrops wet your pierced womb


i'll never learned to heal the sweet sores of bliss
there is no relief in the luscious memories
there is no reward for taking care
Architect's Eye