| I walk this path for the end of line,
|
| I admire forest and it’s scent of pine.
|
| As the feel of cold is creeping up on me
|
| I found a cabin with an open door.
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| Hear a sound of steps on the floor.
|
| But there is no one for my eyes to see.
|
| There is glow in the fire place.
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| Warm coal on the fire grate.
|
| And I feel the warmth spread inside.
|
| I hear the floor to creak again.
|
| I look but it must be my brain.
|
| From the window I can see weak morning light.
|
| I prepare myself.
|
| In weak light of down,
|
| For the coming day,
|
| Last day on Earth…
|
| Last day, for myself;
|
| Last day on Earth…
|
| And now I know who is moving in these corners.
|
| Little black shape with glowing eyes.
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| I feel the wind like in dream I fall.
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| Last rites are spoken, for this is where flesh ends.
|
| I prepare myself.
|
| In weak light of down,
|
| For the coming day,
|
| Last day on Earth…
|
| Last day, for myself;
|
| Last day on Earth…
|
| I prepare myself.
|
| In weak light of down,
|
| For the coming day,
|
| Last day on Earth…
|
| Last day, for myself;
|
| Last day on Earth…
|
| Last day on Earth… |