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Figure on the hill, the vast and dark; heinous conqueror with single, vaulted eye. That common passing mark a whitish spear who often in the morning passed unheard. Color in the walls, the tangent all of space; and I most meet and he the thrilling knight. Braggart of the ears, where sleepest thou, an curvature would bite that runs upon the steely edge of wit? In this repose, and let no man declaim that music cannot work the bones of fame.
0
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 9:18 PM UTC
Of Music
Figure on the hill, the vast and dark; heinous conqueror with single, vaulted eye. That common passing mark a whitish spear who often in the morning passed unheard. Color in the walls, the tangent all of space; and I most meet and he the thrilling knight. Braggart of the ears, where sleepest thou, an curvature would bite that runs upon the steely edge of wit? In this repose, and let no man declaim that music cannot work the bones of fame.
© Cody Edwards 2010
Written by
American
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 9:18 PM UTC
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