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Distant ashen-faced mourner standing against the aging spirals of twilight: The light envelopes you in its corporeal flame. Full of the souls of the flame, solitary heir of this day of devastation; my friend, you are unable to speak, silenced in the loneliness of this hour of the dead. (continued below)
A branch from the sun falls on your dark attire, and suddenly the immense roots of night grow from your soul and the things hidden in you come out. In that way a people, your new born, pallid and blue, take nourishment. Magnificent, attractive, fertile servant of the cycle of black following gold: Rise up proudly and claim your creation, so alive that its flowers wither filling you with sadness.
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