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
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