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STANBARY

Naught futile words can we recount;
The relic of the past remains-
As we, my dear, go up in flames.
Heed to the prayers of the martyr, but
With selfish pride, cremate the truth;
And burn her righteous guilt of youth.
Useless guardians of our fate-
Wait in vain for her last breath,
Blink of eyes, heave of chest.
Incinerate the damned; condemn the
Cowards to depths of eternal flame,
And annihilate all traces of the blame.




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