| So in the scarlet of morning skies
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| In the shimmering of the pond’s ice
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| And in the puddles on the sunken road
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| We wait for someone truthful to despise
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| Something wild opened its eyes
|
| So in the trunks of trees
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| In the shadows of the leaves
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| And in the bottom of the well
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| In the twilight of the eves
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| Something evanescent began to breathe
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| We keep perdition at bay
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| For it forces our hand in anger
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| Whispering death to all living things
|
| So in the murmur of the river
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| In the coming of each cold shiver
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| And with the fall of a single drop of rain
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| We wait for someone who shall our spirit deliver
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| Only to see it wither
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| So at the foot of greenish hill
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| In the hollows of the abandoned mill
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| And in the gust over wavy grass
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| In each stroke of the quill
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| I begin to find my vivacious will
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| We keep perdition at bay
|
| For it forces our hand in anger
|
| Whispering death to all living things
|
| Experience the throes of passion
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| As he is the adversary who seeks virtue in determination
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| Henceforth I serve thee no more
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| Soon to depart from this life
|
| Whispering death to all living things |