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Where now, I pray, is Lady Jane? Now she is here on Tower Hill, She walks with grace unto the block, She stands a queen, not pale nor ill.   Come hither to this place to die!
They grow long, coming out the same homegetting thick by each slicerarely pulled by the core.   
Wide-eyed, glassy stare Dazed and confused Reeling, recoiling from possible  Impossibility    Windmills, grassy fields Disappearing Set upon in flames from those leaders
I'd like to think my footsteps echo off the white stone bridge but such tranquil sounds overpowered destroyed by the dull roar of the arriving crowd what stone should gleam instead is pale
She awoke in the dark, with the moon in her eyes. She'd taken a chance; she'd been foiled by king's spies.
I can’t listen to the buzzing of the flies anymore. No one finds them pleasing, But every time I hear them now,
Standing in a row See revulsion in their eyes Together we stand All wishing, hoping, praying To be anywhere but here
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