t h i r t e e n

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And the sun so bright, burns all those near,

And the moon though so light, chills the coast clear,

And she though soft burns with rage,

Rage against those savage beings?

Rage now in rest.

But the time will come,

It chills their spine,

But the time will come,

this sun shall shine.

Dance like the sun, sing like the moonWhere stories live. Discover now