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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1981688
Not even a brief description.
The night is falling
The stars are shading;
The lights are hiding
And the people are screaming.

We create, we take,
We shall perish in the ancestors hearts
As we, bare mortals, are playing god's game
As we, cursed souls, are pitying our brains.

Our hearts are frozen, our courage is small
So how are we so special after all?
It is something graved in our souls,
Something that shall remain unspoken by the law.
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