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- VIRTUE OF THE GRAVE -
In the void
Black as ice
Dead of winter
Black
Black
Black
As ice
In the storm
Cold as death
Dead of night
Cold
Cold
Cold
As death
I writhe in torment
One with the thunder
Breathing , frailty
The touch of a ghost
Reaching again
Grasping for nothingness
Dying again
At the moment of birth
In the cradle
As in the grave
Dead as Christ
Gasp
Gasp
Gasp
In graves
I feel the lightning rod
Piercing human flesh
I feed the hand of God
The reaper's caress
I feel the lighting, God!
Across human flesh
No more blood of your blood
Under human flesh
I feel the lightning rod
Piercing human flesh
I feed the hand of God
The reaper's caress
I was but a shade
Condemned to live
I long for the virtue
Of the, of the
Of the grave
(c) 2017 Frank Green
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