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Ceremonial Castings
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Swallowed by the Aeons of Time
Though I fade slowly Reclimbing routes of wonder Barren up, how ? Only blights, a thousand thunders
Heaven sent, blackness storm Warren born, the ant of mat That areth sprained to seakeneth Blood a stream meant for those foundling Coming up with frailness With memories of not-knowing ant Freedom must be so manic with us Lord smites, and our bodies are done
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