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.
Once a year I need to hear you tell me how proud you are of me for growing a little more.
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Once a year I need to hear you tell me how proud you are of me for growing a little more.
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