i feel my temperature rise
you can't hear me though
and when i reach down inside
it's dead in telephone
i am the mistake of embryotic drool
when i come climbing up, out of the ooze
camoflougue the religion
smell the consequence
oh i am runnin' a fire that's lit in seven beds
inside the maker i do not have such time
cut your camera in hopes our line rewinds

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