| The dead are like an ocean stilled
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| Friend and foe alike in oblivion’s embrace
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| And still we cannot cast aside our arms and rest
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| Poisoned by the venom of belief
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| Cast flailing into the crucible of fate
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| By the negligence of dying gods
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| That like decrepit beasts, have thrown their bodies down
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| Their feral might relinquished, succumbing to decay
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| Where rivers once roared and churned their course
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| The shadows of the clouds are all that seem to move
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| A burnished glow of fires on the seared horizon
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| The flicker of embers around our feet
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| Ashes of meaning drift beyond our broken grasp
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| Fireflies against an endless wound of night
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| A wasteland of embittered ghosts
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| And the interment of our feeble hopes
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| Draw down the wrathful storm to cleanse this ruined world
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| And wash away man’s ignobility
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| Pray for atonement and the agonies to come
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| So that those who follow may find a better path
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| The storms I call to bear us
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| To the mercy of the void
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| Even in death
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| Our blood will nourish the bounty of your Spring |