Morgan Christian

Stoned Over

Who are you to hate even in death?
One is for all we all want the best.
As your sick soul falls into sleep,
Upon you misery will creep.
Into your veins that have long run dry,
Your heart finds itself barely beating to get by.
You search for your place amoung the other dead,
On dry sources your fury was fed.
Lost underground with long forgotten faces,

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