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Evermore's PoemThe day is soon coming, the day we will all detest.
When young men will leave their families, and the children all shall weep.
When lovers are forever divided, and the bodies will pile up like bales of hay.
This day is fast approaching, its bleak light illuminating o'er the landscape cursed with the scars of war.
And to what do we owe this pleasure? Who's name will we all curse?
Well I suppose it will be him. And you will say it was her.
And he will name you and she will say me.
And in the end all will know. We will figure it out, one by one.
The rightful person to bear the blame, the one who caused us all our agony.
That person was ourselves. We may say who we will and we will believe those things dearly,
Until it becomes apparent, like when one notices the lone blade of grass among the snow,
That spring has arrived.
Everyone will know what happened. Everyone will know exactly what caused this tragedy.
But they know nothing.
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