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Abased by my grief, |
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the troubled mind I bear, |
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drags me down the abyss of |
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endless loneliness. |
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Enlight the reek in which you dwell. |
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You re the weak your soul has fell. |
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-Hear the prayer of a lost soul. |
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Even though the greatest of my wishes |
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is being stoic, God has made me |
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one of many stooges. |
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Trusting only thou |
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who is alike myself. |
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I merge with the darkness |
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that embraces me for who I am. |
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Emaciated by their faulter moves, |
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they hide under the cloak of blasphemy. |
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Desperately yearning for love, |
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finding only misery Avount |
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Now I loath the presence of God, |
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whom I had such trust in. |
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Only to be abandoned, |
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my hardest of times. |
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Pierce the mind see what is not. |
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Try to sense the spirit rot. |