The Martyr

A dark congregation
Of familiar faces
Gather 'round for a last seconds cure
Our breath rose in the cold
Like a hundred souls
That should have sank back into the Earth

Men with black hearts passed down from their fathers
Looked to we with crooked concepts
The master of the marionettes
Is a man with a large book in hand
Whispering a prayer passed down the whole land
To crowd that listens to the best of deaf ears

I was enlightened in a light-less land
Where the rays from the heavens could find this veiled stand





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