I divine your nemesis. Your inability to stand the
breakdown of your cynical, absurdly falling opus, Taken
out of your own hands. About to choke relicts of hope,
about to lose control over those that Shall remain your
ancient charade. Free and yet caged it prospers in
disguise. Too old to suffer, Too young to fall apart but
doomed in every slice. Facing the nature of loss,
confronting the noise With eternal silence, becoming the
fiend is salvation. As long as the prophet will fall.
Condemned to Fail, I conclude that nothing shall remain.
Condemned to go down, condemned to fail.
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