Utterly.
Finished.
Goodbye.


Passing Through Fields Pt. IIThe fields burn to ashes the decay continues through the river the crimson hue of what was new is now old and has run cold forever the sky now spectre-grey as if the farmer itself was Winter with nothing left to dander no dreams, no river altogetherPassing Through Fields Pt. II
But there stands a flower hanging onto life as it would begging for mercy, bowing wishing to live on as it should not filled with dreams but dressed with rosy hue these whole fields devoured by the lonesome memory of you...
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