Twas one mourn which I lay awake
For soon my dawn shall rise and create this ache
Shall once on this day will my groom step in?
Or must I be tossed into his fiery den?
The golden light of morns mist is rising in moments; so frail
So now I must perish under this snowy white veil...
(c) of Remington (Heartache On Memory Road)
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