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          Lord Loss sows all the sorrows of the world 
Lord Loss seeds the grief-starched trees
In the center of the web, lowly Lord Loss bows his head 
Mangled hands, naked eyes 
Fanged snakes his soul line 
Curled inside like textured sin 
Bloody, curdled sheets for skin 
In the center of the web, vile Lord Loss torments the dead
Over strands of red, Lord Loss crawls 
Dispensing pain, despising all 
Shuns friends, nurtures foes 
Ravages hope, breeds woe 
Drinks moons, devours suns 
Twirls his thumbs till the reaper comes
In the center of the web, lush Lord Loss is all thatβs left
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