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Four Seasonings in Relative D

This song is by The Quickening.

Baby, you and me; oh, we're running to the edge of the precipice. What's the rest of us? It's the death of
Us. It's a circle, the center is everywhere; circumference is nowhere. It has no edge. It's overwhelming; the
Senses falling away. Sometimes I wonder, calamity enters the fray. What's at the end of all these things?
Fear and self loathing, the bliss and the ecstasy. What's at the end of all these things? Nothing? The dust
Must keep praying (keep the heretics swinging)...but the eyes of the heart are ever patient. When eyes
Can't move within; and there's nowhere left without...

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