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■ The oak
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These bloody days have broken my heart,
Stolen my dreams and my breath... This mind, once young and so pure, Now knows but to hate; Such blind desires For an ambitious soul, Who hastes to rise Only to later fall.. I am the darkness of my mind, The blood that feeds this corpse. How could I be so blinded by my eyes, Tormented by remorse? We are but puppets dressed in bones, With lips and tongues that lie In fear of the unknown As lonesome smiles die, With no uphold of value In return.
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