Beautiful things can sometimes be so intolerable, especially if you know that they don't intend to be beautiful. With every note of this deceptive music, a part of me dies because I have seen through its sweetness and found a heart of uncaring pride. My consciousness hurts, but my body is too weak to even care.
The filth seems to be receding, but I know that it is only a cruel joke -- I still have a long battle ahead of me. My army is feeble because it derives strength from me. I can't shift blame: they are but children!
Tonight's clouds have disappointed many, but I never expected anything in the first place -- I never do. My path is clear but I don't feel like walking. I need my army...
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