| Her mind engulfed with loathsome thoughts, the devil and dismay
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| The burden of lifes' theatre and the stage on which we play
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| Autumnal sun, no peace upon that burning, pale skin
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| Frustration writhes around her yet the pain, it writhes within
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| Amidst the roaming clouds her seething feelings slowly burn
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| In knowing that he placed above all others shan’t return
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| For time will pass and never shall he come again to grace
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| The wondrous glow he once professed to see upon her face
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| To death betrothed
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| Her union now a myriad of lies
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| As dry in every way as burning sands
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| In midnights' cover he covets another
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| The all alluring vesper lover
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| Left every grain to filter through her hands
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| Alone again to reminisce of when her eyes were privy
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| To the grandeur that is morn of every day
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| Resplendent still, she walks in ghostly mists of those betrayed
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| To mourn encroaching dusk and self decay
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| To fade as light into the night, forever incomplete
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| Alone to watch the spectrum turning gray |