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Pale In My Grotto
The veils open with the strings
in the house of the dying flings
of my twilight repertoire
with candles in the crematorium
as withers of cello play low
in a silhouette of autumn leaves
with a shadow of pale in my grotto
skinny dipping in the inkwell
with memories of falling dark
where the bow meets the strings
and death exhales in gray ash
with candles in the crematorium
in the house of the dying flings
of my twilight repertoire
with candles in the crematorium
as withers of cello play low
in a silhouette of autumn leaves
with a shadow of pale in my grotto
skinny dipping in the inkwell
with memories of falling dark
where the bow meets the strings
and death exhales in gray ash
with candles in the crematorium
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