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Vast and decayed, mourners of faded aspirations upon the colossal halls of rotten tragic shadows, their inner essence and wisdom like a tornado over my torn spectrum will always be the bleeding eye.
Dreadful visions of an impending fear, and unbroken cycle, purified with the stench of sadness, which leads me to a crimson immolation, pain immense and ritualistic.
Lost years, faded illusions, bleeding dreams, all in one, at war with myself at the empire of Msach-Eht
