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Literature Text
The twilight of summer, the end is nigh
This is the end of our days in this land
To our end we shall contend with the hand
That hand is a hand that touched us from high
Until the sunset, when the credits roll
We shall be waiting, for the sun to rise
Like a flood, drowned by light of dark howls
In dark cathedrals, let’s love our demise
This is the end of our days in this land
To our end we shall contend with the hand
That hand is a hand that touched us from high
Until the sunset, when the credits roll
We shall be waiting, for the sun to rise
Like a flood, drowned by light of dark howls
In dark cathedrals, let’s love our demise
A poem I wrote last summer about the end.
© 2008 - 2024 WikipedianMarlith
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