| My transience slept cold, waiting for the gate to open, to release my father;
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| to release my carrion*
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| I’ve fled across lands of ice and fire, in a striving search for the cryptic
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| scriptures that will restore my soul to it’s flesh and bone
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| Long have I waited to meet your eyes; |
| to delve inside; |
| to steal through your
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| mind; |
| to utilize the plans inside
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| These pages are false
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| Where is the remembrance of the city that’s fallen; |
| the millions of lives given
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| into the creation of this?
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| «Oh young and sightless one, you’ll never see
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| You’ll never be as whole as we
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| As whole as we, as whole as we you’ll never be.»
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| I’ve swum through years in dreams of light and dust in my pursuit of solidarity
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| This cannot be veritable
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| These writings are too passionless
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| These actions made are too immoral
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| So you are here eternal savior, with such a voice so passionless
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| Oh my warm and sweet familiarity
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| My transience slept cold, waiting for the gate to open, to release my father;
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| to release my carrion
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| Beyond the portal to Shamballa is where it lies in wait with her |