The nights come tumbling down in flocks,
Ancient is the stars’ desire,
Rivers running side by side,
Dreams of death wrapped up in fire
Are spoken unto me to mock.

And while the winds of ashes call,
Howling, glooming, red disaster,
Pain alongside shades of pride,
I must now behold the master
Who long ago prepared my fall.

In disbelief of what I spy,
I feel numb, and yet I shiver,
Black hole yawning, gaping wide,
As I stare into the mirror,
The only thing to see is I.


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