LYRIC

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Belief alleviates the loss of what leaves in spades.
A burst of mist amidst the cosmic firth, that evaporates into the ether of death and birth.

You are not heaven sent, the angels not ebullient.
A lie coats the reaper’s scythe with the reflection of a lover’s eyes.

The void calls all into the abyssal pitfall. No afterlife after death gives permanence.
It’s evident.

You are not heaven sent, the angels not ebullient.
A lie coats the reaper’s scythe with the reflection of a lover’s eyes.

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