A dedication upon parchment I write
For a meaning a reason I fight
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It was merely but yestereve I thought myself a small hatchling in the harpies grasp and that the nest held hostage now I know I am the sky surrounding the nest and in me is the harpy that grasped my sorrow and all instincts, elements, and evolution reside in me
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Happy birthday my love,
If only I could have saved you
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War with the Countess: Misseth thy countess, as I flow, as the rivers split cometh my soundless. Drops of pain, connection thy rain as he calls ya shamballa rises this way; rises rises, the doors close though arose the demises.
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Joyous rain falls descendant upon my sorrow, Oh that joyous rain!
Returns to me sweet reminiscing memories of my goddesses mirthful all my solitude and pain
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