Ever heard of
What they talk about in scorn
Never seen or felt
Though real and suspiciously dormant
Unknown and hidden
In a dimension
Nobody will ever reach
As a dimly eluded dream
Like buried in oblivion
My evilness rests beside
Between that sort of vivid flesh
Almost rotten, nearly septic
So unknown but still attendant
Waiting to be resurrected
Once it was so great
In its magnificence
So glorious, so real
Unknown and hidden
In a dimension
Nobody will ever reach
I am waiting to arouse it
My evilness comes from beyond
Manifesting itself by that sort of flesh
Almost rotten, nearly septic
It has always been there
Always been there
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