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Stitches

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There is a certain graveyard near
That even ghosts have come to fear
You will find no rest for weary bones
Nor peace among the tortured moans

There is a mausoleum here
That in a glance can disappear
It stands amongst the broken stones
A symbol of the souls it owns

There is, inside, a puppeteer
That only those in death can hear
He whispers songs in eerie tones
And leaves his strings in broken homes

When horror grabs the strongest men
With knowledge of a single sin
The master of a tortured mind
Will let a single thread unwind

When shadows make them turn again
With a crawling feeling in their skin
He knows the lost will leave behind
The life in which they were confined

When there is dust where blood has been
With hollow eyes and a lifeless grin
Look closer now and you may find
The Reaper here is most unkind



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