Morrow, she would sing from atop

bowing down in mercy over ground

prancing upon the stage, chop chop

shiny eyes and smiles un-found,

wanders at the sullen veins

cloudy murky water upon her eyes

pulling torrent hair from reins

shattered teeth open skies,

folly footing moving stairs

a wallowing bloody wave

empty hearts a pattered pill

the scream of moonlit days,

and loosely cry sweet tenderness

to the want of another pray

where the souls are deep in mourning

and dead flies all kiss her face,

but here we see the bitter flesh

blinded and cold with sores

hoarding all that’s pretty

floating skins on all the shores.

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