TE19 Iberian Adventure

El Colombiario

Its wounds bled grief, its anguish flowed through pipes. Thus the harsh lament sprang forth and the hollow wells moaned. The mantle flowed nothing but black, a widowed riverbed of trade. The fever put animals to sleep and their owners knew it well. They pumped out fleeting dreams, they dried up eternal treasures. Because the sky smelled like mud, Eden lay rotten. Because it oozed evil, paradise was weeping darkness.

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