It’s placed at the end of eternity
But the fearful ones try anyway
A faithful reaching done in vain
Their lives that could be, grossly hang

From this old sage, the ancient tree
Thriving ludicrous philosophies
The marked fools are all in line
Dream-full, in their prime and picked to die
I am a distant witness
My excitement keeps me kind
For what each breath may, or not, mean
They still will not ask why, and

I hear the moonlight weep
For all those bodies squashed beneath
The hollow voices of ripened souls
Down this devil’s throat


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