The Locust Alas, Here Come the Hypochondriacs to Wait With You in the Lobby Lyrics

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Drained blood from your own spine in a trophy
Dead skin cells drip charity crumbs
Biting the hand that feeds
Deemed an unhealthy meal
When slipping on someone else's elbow grease
Gurgling devices loose their appetite
Mirages seem to commission blame
While pointing the finger cracks the mirror


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