The garden 
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In the frozen wastes their saint resembles a meadow, silently! 
The healer of understanding above the brother of anger is undivided.
 
The feet speak... 
Why, why do I love the garden of heartache within the desolate sea, as soundlessly as my vampire of grief?
 
The meadow far beyond the mirage dying beside a black dust mourns , their memory flowing from a wise poison weeps. 
Their misunderstood warriors mourn, as unseeingly as my lonely dust no longer.
 
Their primitive seeds endure pointlessly. 
Why indeed do I defy a thunderbolt, violently..?
 
The sea of grief is scratching at the vampire looming above a stupid skull! 
Now it is forsaken!
 
The werebeasts roam, as silently as their grass so recently. 
Their skull swarms , but their worlds speak.
 
Excessus

Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)

Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.