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My seven cycles: |
Welcome, o distant land's noble guest,
Allow me now to take you to rest...
Powerless hands of fiery sand,
Voices of dead from every land...
Like a gentle giant of fine marble,
Dark magic permeates this place...
When the garden of death withers in hues of all,
And the screams of dryads fill the starry sky...
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You can never hate your homeland.You can hate those people who turned it like that at the most. |
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Those who don't know the right way,experience love to its fullest. |
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The dead can be loved,too.Sometimes even more,than the living. |