Brumaire

Though you lived your life
In front of names of old, rearing horses lie
That workers aren't blindfold
Events don't know man, for they don't have a soul
Produce accidents, substance takes it's toll
Brumaire's guise, Brumaire denies
Give us the land who loves command, growing rate is soul incarnate
Bleed the skull from culture
That repeats farce so pure
That you're bored of
Alphabet lives, who just describe
Vertical worlds with hierarchical words yet talk sticks in my teeth
Brumaire's up eighteenth
Take the bow now
Though you're made from dust, elusive grandeur calls. Amputate ornate
The ideal always stalls
Brumaire's guise, Brumaire denies
Give us the land who loves command, growing rate is soul incarnate
Bleed the skull from culture
That repeats farce so pure
That you're bored of
Alphabet lives, who just describe
Vertical worlds with hierarchical words yet talk sticks in my teeth
Brumaire's up eighteenth
Take the bow now



Credits
Writer(s): Paolo Volkov
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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