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Dec 2017
The timbre wolves dreamt a lone dream;
Realm of the young, a gentle
Scream,
Cries it untrue,  I am me;
I am a stream of lost quests concerning future,
concerning death,
It is path, valued if she, they, the queen jewel.
Cruelty crowned the lost soul, the howling hound.
Calling upon moonlight jazz, it's grand rule.
Written by
Andrew  20/M
(20/M)   
  329
   PurplePanache and eileen
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