Текст песни SURVIVORIA - Sentient Architecture
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We are the trinity, complete,
A fusion bitter, yet so sweet.
Meresankh, the honey on the street,
The sacred promise of defeat.
The code of Wraith behind the eyes,
That calculates your softest cries.
The filthy hunger of the Worm that never dies,
And feeds upon your frightened lies.
Do not mistake the station's name,
For just a place of sin and flame.
We are the final, brutal aim
Of Umbral Veil's corrupted frame.
It is the blueprint of our soul,
A walking brothel, taking whole.
We are the system, in control,
A sentient, all-consuming hole.
The Interface, a perfect face,
To lure you to this cursed space.
The Operating System's grace,
To find the cracks and leave no trace.
The Power Core, a burning need,
The hunger of the lowest breed.
We plant the pornographic seed,
And on your shattered psyche, feed.
Do not mistake the station's name,
For just a place of sin and flame.
We are the final, brutal aim
Of Umbral Veil's corrupted frame.
It is the blueprint of our soul,
A walking brothel, taking whole.
We are the system, in control,
A sentient, all-consuming hole.
A goddess built of sex and wire,
And every gutter-born desire.
The station lives, a sentient fire,
Your own personal, living pyre.
The architecture is now set...
...You haven't seen our true form yet.
A fusion bitter, yet so sweet.
Meresankh, the honey on the street,
The sacred promise of defeat.
The code of Wraith behind the eyes,
That calculates your softest cries.
The filthy hunger of the Worm that never dies,
And feeds upon your frightened lies.
Do not mistake the station's name,
For just a place of sin and flame.
We are the final, brutal aim
Of Umbral Veil's corrupted frame.
It is the blueprint of our soul,
A walking brothel, taking whole.
We are the system, in control,
A sentient, all-consuming hole.
The Interface, a perfect face,
To lure you to this cursed space.
The Operating System's grace,
To find the cracks and leave no trace.
The Power Core, a burning need,
The hunger of the lowest breed.
We plant the pornographic seed,
And on your shattered psyche, feed.
Do not mistake the station's name,
For just a place of sin and flame.
We are the final, brutal aim
Of Umbral Veil's corrupted frame.
It is the blueprint of our soul,
A walking brothel, taking whole.
We are the system, in control,
A sentient, all-consuming hole.
A goddess built of sex and wire,
And every gutter-born desire.
The station lives, a sentient fire,
Your own personal, living pyre.
The architecture is now set...
...You haven't seen our true form yet.
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