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As the storm passes, the elegies fall silent
and wills once strong mellt in mute submission to
the course that we chart, in spite of all resistance
that rages within, and echoes throughout these
admonitions heard but unspoken
who declaim to us :
face what you have wrought !

We cannot escape
what passes right through us
must we face this with empty hands ?

Suffocating dread
the emptiness of scorn
for the path we tread upon
the future is clear
the trail is well worn
where it ends, we will find our demise

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