Through the shrubbery of deceit and lies,
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serpentine tears and light could be seen;
A tortuous scene in which someone dies
and They revel in the fact unseen;
Death is laboring in the dark,
drumming his withered bones upon his brow,
hollow eyes focused on a mark
that walks silently across the stage in woe.
He whispers a foul song of lament,
his serpentine tears like rivers at his feet,
it rains until his soul is spent
yet Sadness still reigns from his seat;
His scepter shadows the tortuous play,
and They revel as life goes awry;
years of downpour made his heart clay,
without the sun of hope or shine from glee.
Day crawls to the edge of a nearing twilight
and Agony, cold and grim, holds him dear
as the young man relives his love’s flight
to the heavens, into Death’s wanton leer.
She was graceful even in slumber: eternal
smiles of divinity: hair sprayed just so.
Yet it was true absence that proved infernal;
His clay heart refused to let go.
They; a trinity ruling his life thereupon after,
their gloom haunted through the sun,
casting shadow upon glee, dimming laughter,
brittle and sore, he now became their fun;
their delight became his Sadness,
and Agony followed their serpentine reign,
it was her Death that cast his darkness,
he lived, yet was already slain.
Art is addicting, an addict am I,
truth is I, the truth am I, the truth a lie!