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Striborg
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The Dawn of Winter
Commemorating sickle moons The pack are poised to reap A scythe of white roses in bloom Whose twisted thorns will keep A crown upon a dead man Daylights crucified in sleep And lives that hide in scriptured lies To the memories of a scream
And we shall dance amid the ruin As Adam and Evil Dizzy at the falling stars That burn fiercer in throes of upheaval!
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