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I've walked along the walls of this old town for hours without meeting a soul
The wind shrieks hard against the stone with a loneliness of feeling I have never known.
But I've seen Wormwood over Albion; I know he points me home.
Full of sedition, and wrapped in a threnody beyond my control
Stuck in new Bethlehem, I caught young blood in a bowl
I drank so deep that I slept for a thousand years,
fed through aching dreams by a star ringing in my ears
Wormwood over Albion

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