| What unknown face now breaks the silence?
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| What tipping force disturbs the balance?
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| Swift and sober, comes a voice, offering a bitter choice
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| Take up a crime and serve the sentence, offer up a final penance
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| Or dismantle colossus from deep inside, conspirators,
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| and those allied
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| Gifts of bronze, iron, obsidian, from nave to chop,
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| plunged and hidden
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| Deep in the chests of those who cry, the songs of gods untrue
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| The prayers to start or end the coup, forever silenced
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| Like sulfur set to fire, blue flame is born
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| To rip through homes and cleanse the town
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| A new world rendered, an old world mourned
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| The old world left to drown
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| It draws closer with every step, push off with both feet
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| Fall into the chasm, which will consume all
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| March not to the drum, but off the beat
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| Burst into the evening, cool air burns the lungs
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| Fear not the turning heads, the darting glances, the lashing tongues
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| The glowing eyes that burn like embers, fall painful on the skin
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| Seething with hatred, and writhing in pain, they cast a ghastly grin
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| Yet among the faces shrouded in horror, one truth prevails
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| All who’ve ever come this far exclusively have failed
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| Reach for the hand whose grasp is firm,
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| Whose blistered palms can confirm,
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| A kinship in a spiteful place,
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| with tender touch a warm embrace
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| Though nights turn long and cold, and the warmth of the day escapes
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| The long dark shadows growing old, form familiar shapes |