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In an empty room eyes without a face. |
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They are stirring other images, glimpses of a distant life, of a gone life. |
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The hands cannot identify the face |
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Behind the |
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Iron Mask |
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Dim is within on the plane of the mind a kneeled spirit under the boot of fear cleansed with torture traped in purity by the whip. |
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Daggers from sound penetrate resistance behind each one, a |
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Holy inquisitor. |
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Mouths reveal the presence of haunted beings unworthy to be said alive. |
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Open the window |
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Release the spirit from this empty body |
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Behind the |
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Iron Mask |
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Draining pleasures from mental wounds a need opposed to false excuses unveils the greatest beast. |