We shine, we're bright, the time temptates us at a great height. We fight, we're loud, we fell because we were proud. For how I live, in blood, we reign. Time to bow down to the Great King. He sips, he leans, he is shook, not like a tree. But forever in dept, his life is in-depth, for He was once high, now regrets. One for all, and for us, that tall number (72). The same amount of languages that fled from the rock. Water gushed, it was still hot. Fell, as in Babel, the Tower, once not. Bleeding them dry, as water boils in a pot.
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