Darkness collects upon this place where the auras dance and intertwine
We are but digits on the hands of time; hands that grope, reaching for the end.
Such bountiful anatomy incites a desire to devour.
Such unpalatable hunger, though sights remain unseen.
What mysteries encased in flesh lay waste to inhibitions?
Such decadent discomfort, interwoven like veins – we twist and degrade.
A dystopian romance – pushing ever forward past the moment of collapse.
To be one, to be only (Get Low)
To shake free of this rapture (Get Low)
This thing that we must capture (Get Low)
To be one, to be only (Get Low)
Get down low.
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