We fight, a thousand times we fight. In the day broke morn, wheat fields of blood adorned. The ground a break, a boot of quake. Morning dew revolves, living dread enlonged. A thousand times in day or night, fireworks from above raining death, bringing reath to bear.
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Author:
v_thatguy_v (
Offline) - Published: September 17th, 2010 01:45
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
Offline)
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