Through boughs and leaves and stone on ground.
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I feel a presence of evil, a silent sound.
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An evil place once lovely and fair.
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Itis gardens are grey, sad voices of despair.
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A village old, pillaged and raped.
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All itis houses are rotten or burnt.
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Here are signs of battles of old.
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Raided for the virgins and their gold.
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From where cometh this evil air?
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The pressing warning of danger.
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(Passing By) An Old And Raped Village
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| Mortiis |
