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And over my shoulder you see, |
|
the glistening sway of a scythe |
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For time the silver will dim, and the leap we are |
|
taking heads held high, upright |
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And I who would come when you want, |
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walk through fire any nook or clime |
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A chill breeze swirls the leaves as we go |
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the old iron bell roars as it forebodingly chimes |
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Fringe of the lid |
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Walk through the grid |
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Lonely, ill angels only |
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Accompany us, down we go |
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To our death |
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And the fear and the guilt come to pass, |
|
but emotions ache, bursting inside |
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For the oath that we once swore in blood, |
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idiots and unknowingly tyrants abide |
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And dark days with gloom and despair, |
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the seals - taste the bitter woe seven |
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A release for agonizing cold, |
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for the worms and the hallowing |
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emptiness of heaven |
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Like shadows blinds the light |
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When the vultures have left |
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Light to a moth |
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Whip lust for a froth |
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Turns to ashes |
|
The grinding of gears swallows all |
|
When the vultures have left |
|
And over my shoulder you see, |
|
the glistening sway of a scythe |
|
For time the silver will dim, and the leap we are |
|
taking, the end of beginning in sight |
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Dismal tarns and pools, |
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Where wretch and the cruel |
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Wear our tears as jewels |
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Aghast as we go, aghast of the past |
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And a Death |