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Swing on vines
from old oak trees;
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What dreadful, dreary night
the stars have all stopped shinning;
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Black irises plot murder
blue tears behind white lids;
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Please do not cry my children
for your brother has come home;
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It is moving so slowly
climbing higher between my lungs;
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Twisted vision of fantasy
false illusion of reality;
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Your smile fade
into oblivion,
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Shinning glints of silver cross my blackened sea of loss,
Inside the coffin of his life I lay my medal cross.
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All the flowers have faded away
and my silver moon has slipped into morn,
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