The noise roars in the pin-drop room
a hum of the peaceful white sun
scorches, lulls and poisons
deities of the golden, perfect
harmless, harmful
shadow of innocence.
Have you no doubt
to the silent sleep
of blood thirsted
wide and gorged
rust wined wire.
oh, seconded ability
indifferent to change and,
different to a bloody accent
can you not deny a mummer,
a masque, of omnia sol.
deny me yet again,
the passage to the shadows
a hall in which has no name
but a virtue to wager on-- and
as we continue to sign our fates
in our shell-like personalities.
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