deepundergroundpoetry.com
It Rings
Now my pulse is racing
because the phone never rings
its alien tones feed terror into my soul
Once it was always busy
the heart of the home
but that seems so long ago
before they carried my body away
to rot under cold grey stone
How its echoes
devour each empty room
and what demon would dare to call
when I have no hands
to pick up
because the phone never rings
its alien tones feed terror into my soul
Once it was always busy
the heart of the home
but that seems so long ago
before they carried my body away
to rot under cold grey stone
How its echoes
devour each empty room
and what demon would dare to call
when I have no hands
to pick up
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