Mourn code

Delicate hands

Mourn code
When the scent of a canker
Crosses through the nose
To become a need to sin in the brain
A slice across the nape
With her delicate hands
Will be enough to start
Another trip to a sick sexual pleasure
By start the homage in the morgue
With the youngest cunt
The road to final home
Goes warm by fisting whores
Real eyes
Realize
Sin scene
Still steals lives
Meticulous castration surgery
To satisfy the little girl beside
Vicious seduction activity
By rubbing ladies cavities
With a just amputated hand
Self revolver insertion inside cunt
To satisfy a multi-orgasmic cum
Bids farewell to a perfect dawn
Then like a shade at night
She wraps her shape in her stretched white suit
And throws down her cigarette's ash
In the same neat ashtray
Where she turns off some lives as well
Real eyes
Realize
Sin scene
Still steals lives
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