LYRIC

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Kingdom of your own,
Your grave shall be your throne,
Rivers shall all run through,
The trees of rotten wood,
This soil you call your earth,
Untrue from your birth,

For my quarter, lies beneath the waves,
Where maidens dance to the meadow field sway,
Your young empire will burn into the wind,
Flames will rise and the union shall begin.

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  1. Weston

    August 20, 2021 at 11:05 pm

    i loved first track magical!)

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