7 Fingers Left

A traitor in disguise
Trained and armed with lies
Black suitcase, cold embrace
Depending on his hands
Providing sustenance
Abused and worth nothing

I feel sick, wrong in size
Would you cure me tonight
And cast your spell
I feel sick, wrong in size
Would you cure me tonight
And cast your spell
Again and again and again

Craving for bruises
They wait to control
Your thoughts and your soul
Alone and sleepless
Where did you go

Youre tied to the contracts
But innocence you lack
Cut your face, far from grace
A victim of their plans
A slave to their demands
Abused and worth nothing



Credits
Writer(s): Since
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