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Walking men

Autumn made falling their leaves

Pale shadows raging winds which made them sweep

Snow has frozen the great river of blood

The cries of pain and grief unheard



The echoes that dwell are a real illusion

A storm of mold to kill the gods

Entombed the heavens into the soil

The moonlit shell i adore

The worries by now are far from mine

Mourn the world when hands are tied

Man's birth God's suicide



Man has created woman out of what?

Out of a rib of his god, his ideal