The moon has nothing to be said about
Obscene bikinis hide in the dunes
I cannot touch you. Nothing burns.
Doom consummates that appetite.

I'm never coming home ( 4 )

I've had my chances. I've tried and tried.
How white these sheets are. The faces have no features.

The hunt is on and sprung the trap
Her greed has set the woods aflame
What fires run, what craving wakes?
Doom consummates that appetite.

See also:
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96.70
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