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The Harvestry of Ghosts Lyrics

Grim nor gale shall hinder clove or heather
Ghouls nor satyr partakes goblets and gold fount

(Chorus)
Years have I longed for pleasant times
From the harvestry of your heart
Cursed am I to be nurtured by
The hollow of ghosts haunting realm
He who seeks will find her
Gifts more fine than silver
Memory the crowning deed of torment
Sifts it sickle with the roar of giants
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