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The Call

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The Call


It came from,


The boy who was slaughtered,


From the mother who wished,


From the soldier that regretted,

It came from,


The city of deaths,


From valleys of bloodshed,


From the people who watched.
The Call

It came from,


Letters of sorrow,


Holes of hiding,


Legs that got away.
The Call

It came from,


The knives that murdered,


Hundreds of souls,


And were covered in liquid crimson



From the echoes of death’s cries,


From the screams of departure,


From the lost spirits,


Taken by surprise.





From the blade that touched flesh,


From the blow that took lives,


From the eyes that begged for mercy.
The Call

It came,


And was gone,



While you were oblivious,




Indifferent,





Blissfully,









Asleep.



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