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These barbed-wire groves
These death-crushed skulls
I sit and ponder the paradox
As cycles turn;
These rivers of blood
These dreams of God
I smile softly to myself
As everything burns
And I'm floating in the space between life and death
Between madness and pain I catch my breath
The night is done and the day has come
So lay me down in the stone-cold tomb
Phil Brennán 1998
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