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He Who Walked Away From the Fire & Laughed As He Bled

Blood of the Black Owl


It was (like) a war...
Living in a burned out corpse-room...
A place not fit for rats...
This was my castle, this was my domain...
Shunned by others...
living feral...
I was the atavism...
At eve I would leave my fortress...
The endless dirt of the road...
Becoming my skin...
With this the world would fade...
Fade, far away...
Set upon by shadows...
With weight, continuing down lost paths...
Climbing through frost covered mountains of time...
Searching in vain for rest...
Staring into the river of death...
Towers of might crumble before me...
Thousands smote in pain and wrath...
I stood fast as stone...
For the walls and sky to rain upon me...
To wash away the (human) mould...
Would that I could have seen them all razed...
And leave any future behind...
Never again to see light...
Fester again in another time.

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