Cold hands clamor at my sides,
and blue lips stammer to speak.
A weary soul sighs inside my chest.
And the beast hisses:
"Can you hear the echoes,
woeful cries into the darkness?
To haunt the night in mournful sorrow,
until the ends of time."
Burdened feet stagger along a beaten path,
carrying a head held low.
No smile has crossed these lips for so long,
the voices echo inside of my skull.
"Cumbersome feet can only plod for a time,
until the ground chisels them into naught.
A stumble in the black,
and you will fall into a broken eternity."
I do not scream or cry,
my voice has long since gone.
Still I crawl along this hellish path,
and wait for a solemn and quiet demise.
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