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  Cowled in darkness, standing there, A hooded figure ‘stride his mare, I stand before him silently, While chilling breath shears through the air.   “Your time has come, my mortal child.”
"red imp you stink"always tossing ink Goodfellow's worth no troubleer he goes errs left rubbleshine a shoe change a facehe moves at a startling paceto and fro from king to queen
Joy is a feeling, a freeness of mind, where the euphoria of your brain runs wild all the time. Its a feeling of relief from the pain of the world, from hearings of murder, just makes me hurl.
Spread like thick mist of perpetual darkness, The harbinger, the evil, the snake, mischievous. Slithers. Spreads the black cloud of human error across the deep souls of mortal man.  
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