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Oblivion owned to live he had never seen his coffin and what was made from there he had never tasted his tears Can we trespass now Never dream again cause this world became the dreams surely he would wonder about his steps would always remember the past What past? Times... (He would strive on and on collecting his peace entangled in crayons the most valuable of all) Out of the dismal mist covering the crown he stands like a sculpture in a flowered garden black and enameled roses Can this forsakened deem lay its hand on the final grasp From Letras Mania