Dan Frank


To The Ends Of The Earth

Oh love, where is thy sting-
In this, my hour most foul?
Through fields of famine and forests of fear I hath travelled
Only to be withheld of my indulgences
Fountains shall run dry that once flowed freely
Wishing on stars that never fall
Feeling as though I never do right
Hoping to get lost on a sea of hate
Searching for something that is long gone

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