In times of war's end, the soul always bled
And cried for hundred and thousands of times
But it wasn't merely mourning for all the dead
It mourned the guilt of being the only one alive
Jan 6, 2020
Jan 6, 2020 at 2:17 PM UTC
In times of war's end, the soul always bled
And cried for hundred and thousands of times
But it wasn't merely mourning for all the dead
It mourned the guilt of being the only one alive
(The number signifies my one stanza poems)
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