The soul danced and rejoiced on the melancholic music of its failure all alone in its jungle city and cried over the moon. It counted the stars, hoping someday all of it would be alright but then all the hopes were shattered as the nostalgic feeling...
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A bard engulfs it's quill in the blood To sing for his dolours With dulcified words Enchanted with anecdote of its life And the world treasures it's words But The bard often illudes the world With a shining countenance Inhuming it's agony In those same dulcified words
