Even if we fall burning out our lives, there is a song that doesn’t end.

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Illuminated by gold that has been transmuted, the future is eclipsed by grief.

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Let’s hoist, our melody and furious cries. It’s the home front-lines'-----Last ignition.

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The peace that’s like sludge, is it a transient bubble that floats on top of sediment?

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Finally, capable of piercing at it, is a persistently cruel termination.