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London, 1935
An eclipse sun is on the rise
Feel the wrath of every ray
As you are swiftly cast away
Sometimes, at night their screams are turned to fog
As they gather around the demagogue
Battle the night, the wind was oh so cold
Now, the chosen variable's controlled
Sometimes, at night their screams are turned to fog
This night will be their epilogue
They light their torches and they all descend
This is how the trial [world] will end
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