Each time i make my mother cry an angel dies and falls from heaven when the boy is still a worm it s hard to learn the number seven but when they get to you it s the first thing that they do each time I look outside my mother diesI feel my back is changing shape when the worm consumes the boy it s never considered rape when they get to you Prick your finger it is done

the moon has now eclipsed the sun

the angel has spread its wings

the time has come for bitter things

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