The garden that sweeps,
the roses and butterflies.
The souls that weep,
coldness of inner, the body lies.
Once upon a time the joker,
became the inducer of tears.
I the solitary shiverer,
of pain, regret and fears.
If my fate is more than black,
then the garden never smoked the soul.
I prefer hell and death,
than to live in this world.
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