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Hope Dies

Twisty turny, steps abounding,
Like a maze of pins and needles.
In a lie thats quiet astounding,
The rising piers of the steeples,
A church built on sand and down.

Like a dark, and gloomy mass,
The hope of an unknown god,
Fills the brim of one at last,
But taketh away, and in the sod,
Buried deep a forgotten grave.

To say a way is near forgotten,
To never turn the weary head,
And in the core an organ rotten,
Filled with blood that isn't red,
Seals the wound with silent sound.

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