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They're the flock of debris, I'm the infinite serum.
Weak they stand before me, dead shall be.
Final end, celestial flaming.
Chaos in my chamber, I'll feed them to their maker.
Weak they stand before me, dead Deity, ever black, risen.
From my ground, a born unbeliever, fallen once but now of the secured.
In pure mayhem, saturated.
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