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Every Time I Die - Roman Holiday

We
cut our teeth in the bedroom We.
slit our wrists in our costumes All.
of them witches, Witches.
withes, witches, We.
are the death of the party We.
are the life of the funereal All.
of us ragmen, Ragmen.
ragmen, ragmen, I.
want the ripest fruits I.
want the fresh meat I.
want the first born I.
want the down beat We.
traded vows on the front line They.
ushered us through the stop sign All.
of them witches, Witches.
witches, witches, We.
found our way in the black out We
are the ghosts in the lighthouse All.
of us ragmen, Ragmen.
ragmen, ragmen, I.
want the open wound I.
want the dark street I.
want the virgin blood I.
want the wet heat

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