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lirik lagu chino amobi - white mætel narrative

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welcome to the unholy city, paradiso. in some form or another, everyone must pay a visit to paradiso. there is simply no other way, since everything has been designed to lead into this place. “witness from the hills,” it said, “the maroon oil fields at the coast, the negroes, the night dogs, the docks and the lunatics, glowing messages inscribed on the sides of this [coast?] at the beach.” any hospital may be equipped with a special elevator, where somebody wheels you inside and then quickly abandons you. as the doors clamp tightly closed you finally notice that there are no b~ttons to push, no controls of any kind. this is when the elevator begins to move, tipping and twisting like carnival rides, taking you towards paradiso. we are not so distant as the tourists from the outside of this [?] you are born over the sea in blackness as we were. as everything was. those of us who are permanent citizens of paradiso, after enduring such episodes or other similar to this source, we do not have our own heads. no, not here in this unholy city. there is no escaping this. it follows you even into your sleep. “you begin to glimpse a blackness,” it says, “like none you have ever seen, and wonder for a moment whether this blackness is inside your head or outside, which makes no difference once it begins to compose the outlines of this unholy city you are about to enter. it is here, in this city without a body, in this city without a brain, in this city without a plan, i will carry out my special plan for this world.”


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