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‘Entre nous,

At the last agony of healing our grace,

with the song of our faith,

I heard the angels whisper crystal clear.  

In nothingness we found the unquiet grave

as their hymn echoes into the distance

of the forgotten prayers that we fear.

To follow our faith with the crystal night

until our dawn arose into nothing.

At distance there is, the blackest night,

That the eye of the night foresees;

“The grace of our fate came to me

In a blissful dream, may It follow in purity,

Hath I been enslaved to the waltz of sorrow.”



 

‘This Sunday,

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