Well, we fight our fears in such odd ways.
As withered flowers, our lives rot against the hours.
We're nothing but time: we rise and we decay.
Empty prairies filled with the sounds of the prayers
of those who soon will be ashes in the air.
Well, we fight our fears in such odd ways.
As withered flowers, our lives rot against the hours.
We're nothing but time: we rise and we decay.
Empty prairies filled with the sounds of the prayers
of those who soon will be ashes in the air.
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