as obras do Senhor
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as obras do Senhor
He left us, Vanitiel.
There's no hope left for us.
We're as damned as His sweet creation...
We might as well just end them, and He'd never know. He wouldn't move a finger.
Paradise could be ours.
There's no hope left for us.
We're as damned as His sweet creation...
We might as well just end them, and He'd never know. He wouldn't move a finger.
Paradise could be ours.
