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There is no sense of god to be found on my knees Where the heart and heat scorching inside of that needs I’m a creep, I plead for misdeed The bug smells the greatest from afar Could I only have its sense I would feel that wings are shining under her shell And I'd take the way to the far strawberry bush And then I am dropping into your blossoms Rotting to a swamp It’s late It’s late, I am going forward Going backward Going that constant legs No shiver haunts him No color blinds him And nothing hurts From Letras Mania