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Jan 11
Meager roads
Naught but dirt and stone
Paths not tread
Since distant moans

Were howled from the cliffs above

Now the howling
From the wind in the brush
The bleached out bones
Of those who rushed

So swift to meet their ill fate

I will take my time
In reaching that place
That cardinal city
Of splendor and grace

I ponder if it still stands
For someone who has no where to go
Hadrian Veska
Written by
Hadrian Veska
       Carlo C Gomez and Hadrian Veska
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