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ChroniclesWhen the stories first were toldThey fell upon deaf ears The wretched chronicles that were written By shaking hands, with blood red ink Stand in the darkness, to prevail the aftermath The circle's closed, a finalising path The last believers, the prophecies they found Fatal perseverance, to this our fate is bound The wreckage drifted upon the shores They carved out patterns in the remains Over the lands the waves were eating The precious and irreplaceable, lost in vain |