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My Dying Bride
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Vanite Triomphante
I often hunt you in my dreams, But your wicked claw awaits me, Aboard this snow-lit island, Veins like tortured winter trees, 'Tis the service of my hand, That silence climbs upon thee.
You are sweet and fine to listen to ! Long tresses about her neck, does the soprano sing your?! Yet much is false. This mighty evening, Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com I've seen no face. This is crushing me. My quill it aches.
And old ships die like swans, Against thy frozen icy shore, Pass your dying body, I leave you, in your thought.
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