A receptacle, a prison, a mind, a vision;
The curtain has fallen and from under the veil,
There he goes again
An angel whose wings have been freshly plucked
All his feathers before him
In bloody disarray.
A receptacle, a prison, a mind, a vision;
The curtain has fallen and from under the veil,
There he goes again
An angel whose wings have been freshly plucked
All his feathers before him
In bloody disarray.
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