Aerate the chain of happiness with my heart duped in love, Dilate those tears where i falter to speak.
Malicious is the sight of himself, as he has irked himself daily.
That layman is a ghost now, with sense left in malevolency.
Millet has grown all over his drenched soul, with all hope for her return left on omnipotent.
She is a rector of her decisions, he is guilty for simony of his respect.
Fate has tagged him as stark mad, Unlade his soul from the body, It’s Time.
Soul leaves sawdust behind, diacritic was his life over begging her love.
Dialected will he be in safe heavens, As angels will witness the struggler continuing.
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