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Название
Альбом
Текст песни
Pull my head back, pull my head back, I'd better brace myself for what is to come.
Pull my head back, pull my head back, yeah they always said I was a son of a gun.
The rush of nations turning into routine, the race of races stopped alluring to me.
The scent of a certain decay, is the state I'm going under, the state I'm going after.
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