To the lamenter, death’s script:
A woman’s story of motherly love:
A soul for which her own soul ripp’d,
Taken away by life’s fragile dove:
Once a woman named Death;
Had in her caressing hands,
A ch...
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I am the one who roams the nights. Townsmen surely are afraid to think of my existence; still some praise it. They think that I kill those who are their threat. Although I don’t specifically leave a mark to signify my respectiv...
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