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Rise, Rise

in the garden of nostalgia somewhere lost

the olde tree of the graveyard, the graveyard

of the accursed heart, the web of death she

wears, spinning, the last memory, for her last

she looks in the mirror, and returns to her place

in the hollow empty, it's only the dark, unto the

end, and the tree of the forsaken name, spinning

pasts creations moving bodies that empty tombs

dead man's eyes, the pharaoh of lies, dawn, rise

anoint thyself, and consider me more than true

question, no, do thyself no favors in loving, no,

no favorable outcry of embattled stars sing thy

praises, no, no, it wasn't written for thee, sybiline

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never was there such a hand beneath the sin play to the part of the devil's grinning twas there such a death as to it


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