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Burned into the tattered tapestry of the foreboding sky,
Are faded traces of forgotten sunlight;
As the fragments of ashes rain,
Scattered over the vast distance
That separates contentment from isolation.
Futility is absolute, and alone and misguided are those
Who would tread this mire; so cold and deep.
Lost are all who traverse these ominously twisting paths,
For hope is only a mockery of its own illusion.
