Tears drop on the smoldering fire
Burning echoes reaching from the grave.
Angels strive, beckoning onward
Demons cry, no contact has been made.
Prophets speak of lies in season
To clarify a future wrapped in chains.
With staggered footsteps they shuffle off blindly
Having eaten their sins fresh off golden plates.
No saviours come to try and find you
There are no dreams t…
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