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With wilting growth and twisting hunger, dark golden glow of putrid earth and wasted sunlight,
The emaciated wander along empty roads, every day another in hell, every moment a last gift.
winds through skeletons and dark nights in the dusty snow, to much life for lack of lush,
midnight romps through ink encrusted forests with narrow faces and spectral skin.
Interrupted by the thundering roar of blood, flesh and bone, the heated jabs at fragile sanctum.
The rage full charge through whatever sanity they can kill, people suffer,
The air smells of decay, the air hangs heavier then the rusted iron, the sky shines disaster.
Only the wicked shall persist, while the fruitful survive, and the others will fade away.
Sallow, lutescent skin stretched across narrow frames, vertiginous eyes stare at nothing.
With breathless bewilderment, blood filled throats, black smell of death and misty glare,
The affected wander through hallucinated paradoxes, infinite darkness and pain and wonder.
Walk till you can’t walk no longer, lay a spell until the illness takes you away.
And then the absence opens up and chases away all that glows,
Death comes on a pale horse and the despair follows, the crushing force of endless nothing.
With the blackness hunting us down, the only place to turn is up, and then the gray dissolves.
But the end shall not follow, for there are no ends, only beginnings.