Weight. Cross. 'Round our necks.
Can't cut this tumour.
Grows, it grows, it's growing.
World. Stone. On our backs.
Can't cut this tumour.
Grows, it grows, it's growing.
World. Stone. On our backs.
Weighing the hearst of the dead
against the feather of truth
Drawing a suitable punishment
over a brimming world of sin.
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