6 2 1
                                    


Break the bread

With your hands 

Not with the dirt

Of your filthy flesh.


Shall preserve the last

Feast in joyous harmony

Only the ones who willed

To smile shall ever participate

The rest shall die a death

More mournful than the

Death of emperor

Of the nine gates.


Consider the might

Once you fall, how much

Will you rise up again.


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