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Scarce
Ghosts swelling up
From the black of the fog
In a scarce lament
They blend into the air
Thick as the boiling blood
Of the leaky faucet
Wailing the severed tune
About the night
About the black of the fog
Ghosts swelling up
From the black of the fog
In a scarce lament
They blend into the air
Thick as the boiling blood
Of the leaky faucet
Wailing the severed tune
About the night
About the black of the fog
