| Autumn leaves that collect weight in the ashes of Summer
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| Are cracked and broken by my intruding step
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| Foreign thoughts that invade my questioning
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| Of death’s cold cold waiting
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| No bait will deter the ancient stalker
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| Whose colour I’m not sure of
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| Who’s walked between this park
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| And with icy fingers prepared this morbid corridor of bracken
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| To take my steps closer there all the time
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| Then your fingers — hard and comforting
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| Write softly through my hair
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| All that we’re afraid of in each other
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| All that may die between us without death to take the blame
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| To play games so unprepared
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| To dance round fires unguarded
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| Tears become blood of sorrow
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| And my pulse keeps time so badly with the tune you play to me
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| My steps down streets that remain unchanged but change so many
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| Will just vanish like yesterday
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| Don’t think dark thoughts you tell me
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| Yet all our fate waits prepared in darkness
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| And my hand will fumble for the door
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| Whose handle is too high for me
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| Whose wood is from those mighty trees
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| The trees that lay down their leaves so recklessly
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| My light remains flickering in Autumn
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| And musky smoke from blazing bonfires
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| Will rise like incense from the funeral pyre
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| In preparation |