Enclosed in your arms, in the arms of your pain, I dream of fires, of the purity of ash, of the green shoot that climbs from the earth seeking warmth, of the feral nature of our mind.
I can't decide if I like it. I can't decide if I like it.
Enclosed in your arms, in the arms of your pain, I dream of fires, of the purity of ash, of the green shoot that climbs from the earth seeking warmth, of the feral nature of our mind.
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