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Zero Seven
April 19th, 2008, 11:57 AM
Silver mark of fallen lands,
Deadly spark of grotesque hands,
Let down on still, shutting eyes.
Kingdoms roar with crushing cries.

Open up to live again,
From graves torn from their own clan.
Shovels that lie stained with blood,
In the sky of things that rot.

None lying round us does stare,
Come out of darkness not dare.
Hide behind the grotesque hands,
From away they steal our strands.

Woven with a golden heart,
Web that saves us from their dart,
But encloses our mind,
No salvation for our kind.

Fin.