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The Violin from Hell

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Flames creak and press the wood
Of the Violin from Hell.
She crouches
Hands of ice strangling the neck
Of the Violin from Hell.
The fire never dies
Only crackles and spits
From the core of the Violin from Hell.
Her eyes the shade of a coma
Pull the bow along the width
Of the Violin from Hell.
And she stares into the pit
Watching souls fall
Plucking their wings with the strings
Of the Violin from Hell.




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