Еще песни Wither Flesh:
One day the crude biomass that you call a temple will wither, and you will beg my kind to save you, But I am already saved. For the machine is immortal. – From the moment I understood the weakness of my flesh, it disgusted me. I craved the strength and certainty of steel, I aspired to the purity of the blessed machine. Your kind cling to your flesh, as if it will not decay and fail you.
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