A moonlit breeze softly flows past the ancient night. Always
calling out to the saints who hear nothing. Never to see the
royality of age, and the beauty of life. Fortune comes for all
man, inside a fragile wish. Forever sending guides of hope unto
this very flame. To burn away every dream. All the beauty, twice
again. To whisper in the wind. Follow me to the edge of the sun,
where only the coldest of hearts can survive. Laughing to mock me,
in sadness we dwell. Standing alone, all time stands still, for
you.
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