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Mourning Toward the Void
in the burial ground of discord
williwaw rules the night
gusts so powerful
so intrusive even the dead are fearful
one lone man
sits among ancient bones
hearing whispers and sobs and regrets
of discontented souls
those who cannot leave this place
solitary tear falls on wrinkled, sad face
among the dead
it is he who holds the secret
of those entombed
the ones who moan
his name is notlob and he is damned
midnight screeching on this night
moon so cold looking
I'm sure she's a virgin
an oscar says because he is wilde
among the strong gusts voices heard
cataract eyes look but do not see
blinded as a child
to ward off temptation
and concentrate on the graveyard of withered saints
please take me away I've served my time
notlob, on his knees sobbing
not a figment of his imagination please
looks to the sound of
laughter
silence comes again, only graves talk
in the hour of darkest night
he is lost in the bog
aching for something called affection
remembers the name but not the occurrence
in the dark he loses hope
in the burial ground of discord
williwaw rules the night
gusts so powerful
so intrusive even the dead are frightened
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