Like Luther's army And Abel's brother I woke to find Only to smother And angel fat at Satan's feast Where falsehood, childhood And loneliness ceased Delicate like grief I am rapist, well-healed Double the echo of silence Like a dusty dead rose Contaminate with neglect Every little heart Should end up broken And shrouded by fog Asleep in The stumble of autumn The pain was calvary Our living on Empty! The dead of it - The dread of it!
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