| Eyes of a wanderer, bones from the mud,
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| Unmarked and crackled, bottles of blood.
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| Unspoken words, ashes and dust,
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| In the Collector’s Chamber’s disgust.
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| Find in the darkness, shadows of red.
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| Feel from the cave wall, unrested dead
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| Throwing their souls into nothing in scare,
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| Sense them and hear them in utter despair.
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| Still in the silence, whispers and screams,
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| Panic, anxiety, mareridden dreams.
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| Still in the scent, in the smothering rot,
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| Not to be altered, The Collector’s plot.
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| Teeth and tongues in rusty cans.
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| Falconfeathers, savagehands,
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| Cut off and collected in gore.
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| Stay in the foulness, loathe and abhor. |