The Double Wears Prada

July 13, 2011
The rapists line the streets and upon the murderers, they wait. The vandals are nothing in this town and the serial killers are a lousy joke. Crime runs through the veins ov this city and on the throne, the puppet preaches.

Blackened betrayal is nothing but a must in this corrupted city and we're all living a lie, living in the dirt while the elite stand above us all.

[breakdown] - Even in the brothel, the government intervenes. There is no pleasure in the brothel anymore. Even in the brothel. Even in the brothel, there is no joy.

Poverty is on the streets and famine is in the air. A good breath into your lungs and we'll be digging your grave tomorrow.

(chorus x2)

In this city, we are famous for our everlasting miasma. Inhale this wretched stench and within the hour, your lungs will be a liquefied pulp as the majority ov your regurgitated mess.


This behemoth ov a plague will rip your bronchi from its stems and in seconds, your lungs will be dissolved and you can't reverse the process. Once your lungs go black, they'll never go back. Once your lungs collapse, don't expect to get better, for there is no cure, there is no immunization. You can't turn away from this plague. Your coffin is built.

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