Wandering through this terrain of sorrow,
Where the metaphysical hangs in balance
The grind of abrasion against the air,
And the sharp scent of metallic thunder

This distant planet feels hostile
Devoid of the familiar chains of my mind-prison
The cold, bitter wind cuts deep,
A harsh breath on a blood-soaked night

Here, the intellectual horrors swell,
As the last remnants of modern thirst dissolve,
Leaving only echoes of what once was,
In a world stripped of all that resembles home

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