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We All Go Cold

Throat of sinew
rotten muscle
stretching goo
parasites bustle ,
without daylight , inside the tomb
the wretch of death , stench
does pool .

Outside the green
stone of slime ,
Crows caw a midnight chime
once more the solar shines
from the , flawed sattelite .

Engraved upon
old stone
with moss of overgrown
the names gone
and of old
with dates covered in mould ,
their fate in short
is told
someday , we all go cold .
Written by diddi (StephenPaul Summerscales)
Published
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