I sense a cold wind brewing.
It seeps into the very essence of my soul.
I can't control this emotion, for it is my controlller.
It thrives off me like a wretched parasite.
I cannot bear the pain any longer.
Everything I touch turns to gold, and then decaying ruins.
My life has been altered, far beyond my control.
Emptying my life of rich harvests, and summer nights.
Many years have gone now, and now I'm about to go.
Even in death I shall not be triumphant, so what is the point?
Wretched hamlets torn by wind.
Hulking castles worn by rain.
Watch the sun rise above candy mountain.
Happiness will feast on your innards there.
Whereas I cannot stay for candy mountain isn't real.
Hope is real, not fictional mountains of love and tenderness.
Acting out deaths,
Dreaming about love,
Welcome to my World.
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