Born into a field of flowers, to slowly wilt away
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Sheltered by wings, delicately smothered by blindness
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Released among the wolves, thus molded by resistance
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Ridden by the clawed hoofs of tyrants
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The fruit of other worlds, but grown by loneliness
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Concealing a black soul, and but sensing the beyond
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Uniquely grown from within
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Shimmered by a darker night, but left to solitude
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How can one disclose a darker night,
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if one but rests?
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Or evidence the suffering,
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by wordly gauge?
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Or comprehend the long-drawn agony
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When pain and evil never trod one down
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Like a warring sun, from a better kingdom
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Beautiful, free, of different steel!
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Dearly prized, and equally broken
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He should have gone free of you!
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An emotional tumour, gnaws from inside
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Of heartless, spineless treason
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The darkest night now weaves its loom
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Soon to release its spawn
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Angstridden
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Satyricon |