All hail! The phrase of tainted prose
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The etchings that cover the rose
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Well of thought of you, must surely be denied
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For impure are the arts
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That are painted in your eyes
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Tonight, our lies shall be known, my faithless one
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Tonight, our lies shall be known
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And I'll await my heart's return
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Resting in the shadow of a tomb
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For a presence ever lost
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In the presence of forever:
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-----------------
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Return
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| Arsis |
