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UNDERWORLD
Limp and swaying,
To the silent tune of whispers, these husks are.
Cold strings of fate,
Bind no soul do they.
Amidst all loud baying,
Cerberus stalks the graves.
In the dense...
Limp and swaying,
To the silent tune of whispers, these husks are.
Cold strings of fate,
Bind no soul do they.
Amidst all loud baying,
Cerberus stalks the graves.
In the dense...
