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Quarry (Hunt)
03:25
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If you spend your lifetime leaning on the arms of a ghost, you’ll never learn to stand upright with your own sense of self. “Everlasting arms,” he said, with a smile (and a gift horse you couldn’t help but stare directly in the mouth). In the land of the blind, there are no kings, yet they still clamor for a hollow dynasty. They reach for anything they can to help decipher their intuition, encrypted by the very man from whom they seek their salvation.
I’ve seen the purest sheep among you turn their backs on anything that doesn’t bring instant gratification. Blessed are the meek, because the tyrants need their whipping boy, submissive and pliant, at the bottom of the barrel. In the land of the dead, there’s nothing to perceive, yet they still toil for a sensory distraction. If idle hands do the devil’s work, the holiest of men are the monsters who destroy.
And you will know Them by Their sermons, a strangled nightingale’s song. And you will know Us by Our fruits, bruised and grey, rotted through.
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Muzzle (Domesticate)
02:40
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We strive for a world without love, without happiness, without civility. Problems are still best solved by the Maxim gun, which we still have, and they still do not. You will swallow our values. We will grab you by the scruff of your neck and shove your face into the shithole that is your daily life. It’s still wrong to expect compassion from vultures. The example you arrogantly set of an ideal world remains a curse.
Our voices rise. Falsify and dominate. Unchecked aggressors. Abhorrent. Wear the mask of iron we forged for you until you fucking adore it. Die in it a better man. Die in it a real man.
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