While there may not be anyone around
A true silence in the air for miles
The transparent spirit sees a frown
Perched upon bodies forming piles.
Empty eyes lie upon blue skin
With one note being played
In the mind filled with dry gin.
Collapse of a masquerade
One minute and the cloak loses shade
For thou has committed sin
In a field so far astray.
Listen closely to the end of your days
For these last minutes are performed
In the midst of foggy haze
Opening the gates to never-ending blaze.
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Itarow Krähe 