When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.
We can all have plenty of lives, but there are limits. You never can tell what they are.
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We can all have plenty of lives, but there are limits. You never can tell what they are.
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