Alone the night stands tall.
Resistance tells it all.
A step away from solitude,
lies a bright and withered soul.
Sharpened wits turned dull.
An arrow for the bold.
Now brazened wounds ensure the doom of armors overhauled.
A ghost ship, takes sail.
Conquest will prevail.
At least it seemed within the dream
Of a foolish would be king.
Gods are jealous beings it seems,
Attuned to every little thing
For would deception come to pass
The bliss of peace would never last.
As Psyche rode to hell, The golden ass slept well.
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