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O, Poor Titans!
Where did your might escape to?
You had your son, Prometheus,
A wise soul, diametrically different
From your quarrelsome selves
For love unselfish, dear Prometheus
Stole red flower from Jupiter, King of Sky and
Earth,
All this trouble for man!
Poor Prometheus had his liver devoured by vultures
Chained to a rock day and night
No greater love was demonstrated as thus.
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Echoes of the Hills is all about you. I would love to hear your echo...