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Thinking Plague



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Thinking Plague

Consolamentum

Place your hands on this body,
that it be ready when morning brings
the end of days.

Consolamentumthe world cannot touch me
now.

This flesh is not a temple,
rather a prison cell.
Now, we cast it off.

ConsolamentumI hear the hammers bang
...morning comes

Consolamentumthe fires light the way.