What can ever bloom again,
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When the power to live is missing,
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Dryness sows hate inside of my heart.
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Fading lust,
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A flower made of stone,
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Forgotten in being.
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Broken of life,
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Disintegrated of illusion.
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The dread lets me feel the force of love,
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To refuse my power,
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I hate the thirst of love.
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It will judge me, judge me until death.
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Sunday means flesh.
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Sunday's Words
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Caliban |