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When the loveless retains the love it has lost,
They gain none but futile dust
and whispering winds
of fragile speeches that is reformed
by whimpering pains of the dead.
these love seeks the seekers
and the burning souls of the damned.
With such gothic textures went by my lips,
they crave indigestion of knowledge
beating the terror of the hate.
The lady in black showed her palm,
decorated by patents of mass clearence
of genius structural creation by god.
"I belive" said the man, "I oppose the creation" ,
he then took a deep breath and died in her arms.
- by Devil Ezam |
- Poetry And Lyrics
- | Submitted on 10/13/2009 |
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