There is a small passage waiting for you on the roads and grounds where blood flows on howling and holy milk of legionaries
A silence,an broken door and corridor
Unluckieness,the garbage of grave guards
Bloody rivers,betrayel shadows which blood couldn't clean
Pale and greedy dogs coming from darkness
War machines are burning and wounding the souls
Nail prints,my scream isn't exist in harrow corridors in thousand years
My hating doesn't sound,until reach the victory
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