Short-Circuit Hurricane.
Sweeping; Gathering; Reaping Havoc.
Dainty Darkness,
Mystery Movement,
The Frozen Landscape.
Unchained illumination.
The Sweeping Foundation.
Crusted Rage, Old Tongues at Howling Range.
That’s Where I sit.
That’s Where My Sanity Aspires to Rest.
That’s Where My Ancestral Spectre Lie.





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