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The Seventh Gate (the 7th Gate)

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One man, a coward waiting for bliss
An open book lay with tattered pages never known
Sweet fragance of depression like new
Delicate aroma of slow death clings to the blind
Hung itself on a dream
Slit it's throat while he slept
Suffocate
Inebriate
Murder
Rub red eyes with bloody hands
Smearing tears and forgetting this
Paranoia
Fiegning
One man, a coward waiting

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