Novembers Doom. Of Sculptured Ivy And Stone Flowers. All The Beauty Twice Again. Novembers Doom. Από γλυπτά κισσό και λουλούδια Stone. Όλη την ομορφιά Δύο φορές πάλι.
...A moonlit breeze softly flows past the ancient night. Always calling out to the saints who hear nothing. Never to see the royality of age, and the beauty
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