| Apocalypse | |||||||||
| They tiptoe the light ground They make up the last sound With big eyes they gaze down With full hearts they look 'round Revolving with the Mother&'s beat Evolving until just they meet Involving names we do not speak Dissolving when they feel the heat. Silence echoes in the mind Thoughts in which such horror's lined The brave, the weak are intertwined The dirt and dust is all they find |
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| 12.22.02 | |||||||||
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