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Bed Of Stone
Our living are captured by death
So impatiently loosing to win us
Like a bee on a flower at dawn
In hurriedness to pierced and sucked it nectar...
We are faraway close to victory
For this were called a peaceful war...
So impatiently loosing to win us
Like a bee on a flower at dawn
In hurriedness to pierced and sucked it nectar...
We are faraway close to victory
For this were called a peaceful war...
