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| The symphony;
Flowing melodically as life is spawn, No cynic threat impose thy harmony. Enter brazen creodont; Whose callous marcato Reforms and restrains. A lacrimoso aire falls adamantly Upon wandering strings. O� beautiful symphonic sounds Grace thine ready ears; Sweet tragedy� Pure horror! Such musical drama, Woven of ones mortal love; Broken; Betrayed. No angelic beam of light so pure, Dost ever capacitate thine rescue; Mournful long-abandoned heaven. Ice bourn eyes see only to resent. Composer; How be so genile as thou art? As to weave such truth, To thy own tedious labours. Mine breath dost sweep From lung�s near grasp. Truth. As only thou do perplex those simple of mind; Weave yet more truths intricate. And now, my liege? Could be it; That sweet caress of strings reign full? A waltz of reminiscence ye intertwine? Dost love rule thy harmony of verbial winds? Yes, oh lord! Sweet beauty bound adagio dust roam mere minds extent; Cease and grasp for all till mortal end. |