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I'm your surreal breath, twisting their mings.
Like deadweight, like final burden.
Declintion like lead in your veins.
I tremble your sacred paths,
and through the unsacred realms.
Time won't tie me.
And the iron reality -
lifelong and endlessly grim.
I hear the language of the dying,
all senseless of all divine?
I breath the shadows engaged to your visions.
With dead rites concealed?
Of does the time bend for me?

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