i shot an angel with my ( father ’ s rifle )i should have set it free ---- but i let it bleedmade it into taxidermy , hung it on my wallon my walland i know one day hell will catch up with meand i ’ m sure that i will ( burn ) eternallyone day it will come to claim its pound of fleshwhen it ’ s done , there won ’ t be anything left
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words like venom ---- poisonous to the brim . yours or not ... she ‘ s gonna make you ( eat those words )
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