| Throe |
| A dreary dirge of sorrow In anguish, cries aloud From painful nights of morrow Into a barren crowd. Alone, with yet the comp'ny Of melody and night While silence deafens closing ears And draws a sigh unslight. Deceiving hues of Nightshade Bequeaath the sign of verve Lies shrouded in the shadows Demise that extant word. The digit of eternity Within the depths of strife Receives my chill-ed heartache And charges gone the life. |
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