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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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