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Haunted by vaunted memory in the shadow of quiet places,
feral absinthe eyes pierce my veil of solitude;
the consequence of every breath in bittersweet regret,
and the sorrow of a fool pining for the world:
one more ghost to dream about on a rainy day in April,
while celestial choirs sing in the wind.



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The following comments are for "Pine"
by verve





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