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She was the sun shining upon the tomb of your hopes and dreams so frail. He was the moon painting you with its glow so vulnerable and pale. She was the wind, carrying in all the troubles and fears you've for years tried to forget, He was the fire, restless and wild and you were like a moth to that flame.

Love's The Funeral Of Hearts and an ode for cruelty, When angels cry blood on flowers of evil in bloom.

The Funeral Of Hearts and a plea for mercy, When love is a gun separating me from you.