49, you are cruel and brutal. You’re the vulture of a Zoroastrian temple of everlasting suffering. You snuggle as an embryo inside the purified star. 49, I would say, I lost everything and prone to conceive another corporeal image as a withered heart willingly pounded by the worldly brutality and thus keep my worming to survive in this heavenlike Earth. 49, I need to breathe, innocent breathing like the tree. 49, you revealed as an Avatar as you appeared as a brief introduction of my perpetual savior.


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