be it a rose of winter compares

a dew drop tear on the first open eye,

I still dream of ghosts walking the towns,

I am there with them on rich hunting ground

hindsight retraces all we should’ve been,

and still we are waiting, mute to a dream

my hope ponders spirit, in a world left to die,

confide, we do in each other,

tonight we ride alone

all that thrives has lost i...

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