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■ The oak
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years of torment
kneeled under the flaming cross a world drowned in the blood of a faith spoken in a dark past die, angels that oppress even now in the late hour that dwells a planet in the hands of destruction but it is nature, not God that screams our mother cries savagely trying to save her lost remains but we, blinded like our ancestors cover the land with the gloom of our own demise the gods have died in this very day celebrate the slow decade of man but spare the nature that surrounds you for the way of the water is the only way!
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