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Feeling the painâ¦
Present despairâ¦
Deep, engraved in the abyss of my woundsâ¦
Moon, affliction, screaming out loud my nameâ¦
I hear in the vast valleys how willows weepâ¦
And the old voice is weak early ice dew,
As a specter in the wolfâs funeralâ¦
What once was home has turned in wasted harvestâ¦
Due to bad seasonsâ¦
And the grove of thousand crowns once was,
Spreads its envenomed gray mantleâ¦
We believe the lie of the new harvest sorrow,
We are black cancer that destroying the Natureâs womb
If I âam Nature Iâd be⦠Misanthropyâ¦
Fire I spit at you,
And the serpent gives its venomâ¦
Impurities of the world shall punish you,
Worthy of grief with no poetry
If I âam Nature Iâd be⦠Misanthropy