The old man sits, weary, by the broken cross,
Where God once whispered secrets to the wind.
A serpent slithers, born of shadowed loss,
While heaven weeps for what it could not mend.
Satan's laughter echoes in the void,
As light and darkness wrestle for the soul.
A son, with weary eyes, is heaven's choice,
To cleanse the world, to make the...
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