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He always is quite far away,
In a very distant land.
A land made up of strange array,
Of things thought up by man.
He went to this far off place,
He went there by poor choice,
And though he could not see her face,
He could hear her stricken voice.
Her utterance echoed in his skull:
He heard a steady rhythmic lull,
And wished to hear the angels sing.
Instead he heard the disturbing drone,
His time was up; his time had ended.
And ‘twas not the tunnel’s light that shone,
But instead the fire that flickered and glinted.
The horrid depths of hell were waiting,
If only, if only he could rewind the clock.
But happiness and memories were fading,
Too bad he’d spend the rest of time there…