| Catatonic glances upon the chilling present stopped by frantic shivers to
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| resist the fervent ending
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| Weeping winds I hear at night invasively, followed by footsteps of forgotten
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| ills
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| Weary hands dig down to the hopes of the past, pulling on the roots of what has
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| grown in seconds, moments, forsaken years
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| I can still hear the wailing woods reviving the old forsaken lies that lie
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| beneath the overgrown catacombs
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| You let the ashes consume you, turn our blooms to grey as you wandered the
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| forest’s glade
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| Longer and longer I stand in the swamp, deeper and deeper my roots will grow
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| Unearth the resting demons, breaking the boundaries, no cages, no strings again.
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| The smallest of doubts where filtered through leaves and haze
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| I might have taken a glimpse of what’s coming next, an already written story
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| with no climax or an end
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| Apathy comes in waves flooding the woods
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| Tragedy once a day drowning my roots
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| Nature’s claim takes away my mellow soul so we can wither away
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| Insomnia’s touch only brushed my skin, entering my weary home
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| Whispers of doubt weeping among the woods |