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My Dying Bride
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Of Sorry Eyes In March
Destiny marks your life
With a knowing indie.
The act of desire has walked on by.
An ancient soul limps from your eyes
It is just your [tear?]left to it.
Flies lie dying on your soury lips
And on young love's broken wings.
And the stone that lets you drown
You are not worth stopping for.
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The Earth,
With all its blessing
And the endless [patterns?]of night.
Lay a raft of gold for you
My field here
Is where we end.
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