You are the silver'd skies above
I am the crater that is no more.
The crow cries in distant Eden
Blood upon the sands of the Plutonian Shore.
I weep still for eyes ne'er seeing;
A heart in a corporeal coil never formed.
Woe betide this springtime Eden,
Now the vale of those who mourn.
Blessed be those who wander
The walking wounded with no home
The crow awaits in distant Eden
Now the vale of those who roam.
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Can I play with madness?
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