The watery graves,
Of burning silence.
Lost, and found,
In moonlit turmoil.
Death is your deviant,
You command her.
And then weep,
When she does as you ask.
Why waste your time,
When the days are falling.
In the end,
Its all the same.
The watery graves,
Whisper silent songs.
Its so fucked up.
Once, it might have mattered. |
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