They ordered the extermination of all minds they couldn't control.
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Sometimes, when I'm alone, I cry, 'cause I am on my own. The tears I cry are bitter and warm. They flow with life, but take no form. I cry because my heart is torn. I find it difficult to carry on. If I had an ear to confide in, I would cry among my treasured friends, but who do you know that stops that long, to help another carry on?
I would rather be stricken blind than to live without expression of mind.
They loved the sight of your dimming, and flickering starlight. How could they understand what was so intricate to be loved by so many, so intimate.
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