Mystery Misery

I live in a land of mystery.
Oh, sorry, misery.
Misery with mysterious mystics;
Of abound interesting sufferings;
And a deep hole of in-depth pain.
Mystically bangs on the door of our land without a knock .

I was born in a mysterious street;
Strictly serving misery with a mischievous taste;
Along with nectarous drink from the goddess of sadness.
Diners eat with hungry mouth of hope;
In mystery lies of getting a good a taste;
Carved and cast with hoping bricks of pieces.

See the beautiful face of misery,
Seductively springing up like winter flower.
Singing in melodious sweet pain
Separating families and lovers.
With happy storm of poisonous rain.
Set as the default setting of my Land.

Though I never know misery;
‘Cause it hasn’t yet banged on my door;
Even though I left it open.
I have a faith lifter that scales me high.
And with smile that will forever rumble the pain;
To live the best worse of my time.

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