Flesh Harvest

Flesh Harvest

Psyclon Nine

They have no more power
They have no room to deflower

To end the fear to end this pain
We must cleanse this earth with the sulphur and rain
Still you’re all waiting for perdition’s son
Who needs your fuc*** god when I’ve got my gun?

Forget flesh harvest

That which brings us to our knees
will separate our fantasies

Anaesthetic (For The Pathetic)

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