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Şarkıcı
Şarkı
Now our blood Travels though the Veins of our Histroy It bursts forth them Boiling black Coulds from the wrists of kings The shadow Lengthens as Time draws on its tendils Creep into mythic cracks Blending with the light of day We see it Now before us But even so we cannot Read the lies between the lines Bring them nothing They have Made it's way The nights