All Come From Dust
A loop of edgeless bend. You were its doom, he was its bloom. You were its tomb, he was its womb. You were its gloom, he was its loom. For Heaven and Hell, were words made of fume.
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A loop of edgeless bend. You were its doom, he was its bloom. You were its tomb, he was its womb. You were its gloom, he was its loom. For Heaven and Hell, were words made of fume.
