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Thx AiC.
The world is grey, the mountains old
Our people's heats are ashen-cold
No harp is wrung, no silver trumpet calls
The darkness dwells in europe's Halls
Yet we still remember, we few who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees
The truth
The Light
The dreaming golden spires
The Starlight on the western seas
Die Ligaseite ist down.
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