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Wait For No Broom
The tides of dark wait for no broom
listening to the eye of the storm
with a pale of the poet's confessor
to sweep across rooftops and chimneys
with the howling of death's somber
and the sequestered shadow
emerging into your own man-made Hell
listening to the eye of the storm
with a pale of the poet's confessor
to sweep across rooftops and chimneys
with the howling of death's somber
and the sequestered shadow
emerging into your own man-made Hell
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