+--+
These tymes of violet sunset skies,
poisoned with a fiery crimson dye.
Where the clouds of spring have gone dry,
and sparrow's wings no longer fly.
+--+
Our beloved feasts of autumn's harvest,
have long past, and fallen amiss.
Spiraling inerty through a shadowless abyss,
into the frost of eternal winter's kiss.
+--+
Striding confidently to the promised land,
where the gates of the begining mark the end.
There I pass you to wither my friend...
until our paths cross again...
+--+
Copyright 2004 The Prophet Untold
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