| Diaphanous figure who silent rides death’s wisdom
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| It’s said you came when the weary sky was sinking
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| into its eternal sleep
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| And that only your cry would have announced a new dawn
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| Mistress of the air shaking the fronds of icy hills
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| who at dawn caresses the bare branches of foggy plains
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| You grew up as a lonely witness of existence’s foolish theatre
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| On your visage the signs of a gloomy memory
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| Your lips wound false innocents' hearing
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| with painful truths and biting sentences
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| You knew the inner pleasure of senses
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| the poetry of wind, the secret of fire
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| Your will has the strength of thunder
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| Your spirit the impetus of the final fight
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| Oh great mother who lavishes love generating hate
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| Enchanting muse of unspeakable fancies
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| You will rise again from the ashes
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| wrapping the great catastrophes
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| Pure, joyful and immortal Darkness and light will eternally
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| follow you in the temple of the new dreams
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| In memory of Shadows' Madame. |