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There's no blood on your palms or soleshalo's round your anklesno one's saviourand while you push your gods on meI see what I still seeyou're sitting in a trip seattoo late for me to screamYou'd better not believebetter not seebetter not believe'cos they'll only hunt you downSomeone punched a whole through this worldcorridor of dead soulsare marching backwardsbut you can't do anything to meyou don't see what I seeyou're sitting in a trip seatno need for you to speak From Letras Mania