Novembers Doom. Of Sculptured Ivy And Stone Flowers. The Jealous Sun. أشهر نوفمبر الموت. من اللبلاب وازهار منحوتة حجر. الشمس الغيورين.
...smile lies to me. I can smell the scent of dark and cold winters frost. Deeper in the void we look searching for a golden glance. The jealous Sun is burning
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