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Torture your spirit, your soul,

Follow turmoil into black hole.

Which mortal being or tool,

Could forge such a beast so bitter cruel?

Which mortal could bear to feel,

Extent of power which it wields?

An age of dark without the spark,

An age of black in which light lacks.

A kindred feeling to that of none,

A patch of bleak before rays are shone.

This force is known as tenebrosity,

And only one other conquers it’s reign:

It’s alter-ego luminosity,

As turmoil attempts to rise again.

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