

Marching in the land of sheepMarching in the land of sheep, So weak, with neither intellect nor pride I am the lonely wolf, I am their righteous predatorMarching in the land of sheep
Look at them while they feed On hypocritical diamonds, Which shine so empty But blinds them with its glow
They feed on delusional hope Which they might sense But they are too obtuse to detect the lie Enchanted, they follow and bleat
And I am the righteous marauder The one that could feed on them But their smell makes me shiver And keeps me far away
I am the one that sees it all, That smells t
Come to me
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