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Willows weep from winds to swoon Pulling boughs from whence they loomed. Laughter seared sounds from afar, Lacking joy yet squalled with scars. Land where no one speaks out loud.. is ours. Banshees cry of grave impend Stories wander to their end. Lies a final resting place Seal our fate within it's gates. Land where no one speaks out loud.. awaits. Seal our fate within its gates Land where no one speaks out loud.. awaits From Letras Mania