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The apples turn to brown and black,
The tyrant's face is red.
Oh the war is common cry,
Pick up you swords and fly.
The sky is filled with good and bad
That mortals never know.
Oh, well, the night is long
The beads of time pass slow,
Tired eyes on the sunrise,
Waiting for the eastern glow.
The pain of war cannot exceed
The woe of aftermath,