| Sometimes I feel, long ago life took the last breath from me
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| Life itself, the grand enemy
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| The white bride of wretched death, did guide me through gardens grey
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| The fruit of which, would only fall to rot away
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| Amidst such vast gardens, even the sun itself doth seem so pallid
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| And the once glorious moon, its pallor so unhallowed
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| Seven statues of saddened stance
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| Perhaps the craft of a man still sadder
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| Fallen leaves of the thrice dead oak
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| A morbid portrayal of a once grand majesty
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| What would one tear filled glimpse stand to reveal?
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| The subtle fragrance perhaps? |
| …of a bloody wretched death!
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| Up on his grey green throne
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| Stained with the horror of a thousand bloodied suicides
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| Sate the Suicide Choir
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| Kneel before the Suicide Choir…
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| Be judged by your suicidal desire… |