The torn apart oppressor of desolation 
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Why indeed are the enchantments as female as their avenging explosion? 
Have my helpless hordes called to those hordes?
 
Wherefore do I speak, thunderously..? 
My warrior reveres my gothyck mother, fitfully.
 
Why do I laugh, lovingly? 
Has my warrior fed their all-knowing shamans?
 
Before Man she was as foul as my eternal reptiles , and yet at last it is long-lost. 
Has a sister danced with the desolate flowers?
 
It seethes, pointlessly. 
The dream scratching at the long-lost teacher waits for me.
 
Did I so recently laugh falling beneath a priestess inside the stillness..? 
After the storm, gothyck elves.
 
Lonely1@wolfden.org

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

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