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The lightning in his eyes sought her.
His touch was Zyklon-B.
Oh, they danced that decadent waltz, that battle they fought made foundations roar.
Her spears of incandescence splintering,
never bringing his glass palace to a fall.
Alas, he mourned the dark glitz of his past, wrapped within his crippled mind,
his potions numbing him to all.
She fought and fought, she still does,
cracking but never crashing that great, great wall.