In waving forms of lifting hands
And in tears, an angel flies
What form of deity could withstand
The fall from those mighty heights.
When searing to the wuthering towers
And falling from the grace's eyes
I stand alone in hearth of fire
Slaughtering my own demise.
And in tears, an angel flies
What form of deity could withstand
The fall from those mighty heights.
When searing to the wuthering towers
And falling from the grace's eyes
I stand alone in hearth of fire
Slaughtering my own demise.
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