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In these final days before the end and its crusades voiceless among the walking dead, |
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Hands extend towards the heavens without wings nor soul of light masked beneath and betrayed, |
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All along we have known that this day would come, |
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Signs have always been here. the son of man rise from your graves, rise salvation. |
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Alone in the eyes of a dreamer silenced by lies, imprisoned by your fear. rise from your graves, |
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Rise, the sickened wings expand, |
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Cowering in their shadow. |
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I only inhale the horror, understanding what has become and what soon shall be. blackened heart of the same, |
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A taste unlike any other, awake like never before. |
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Several realizations decide to resume rational thought. |
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Much later it is forgotten trust. |
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Where can such a diseased angel solitude, |
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Preyed upon by our brothers, |
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Slip into horizon's daze and all that began anew. |