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This is more than a poem but a story. |
There is a lost bookshelf In the back of the library It has books that are dusty and old And even books of stories told And even if someone found the lost bookshelf It doesn't have any books to help ones self Except for a black book With a great big "BEWARE!" That's written in the blood of the fallen heir Let's just say that you found the book And opened it without a care The blood of the "BEWARE!" Would sink into your skin And soon enough You'll come to find That you're a living sin Feared by the poor Hated by the rich Hunted by the virtuous And none of them can resist To put you on the top of their s**t list You can run You can hide And they'll lose your tracks But no matter what Your sin will never die And they'll find you somewhere down the line You've come to the part Where you've ran so far Unable to stand So fight back Throw sand in their eyes And kill them all With an unseen surprise They want you even more dead now You've got to find a way out somehow They're quickly closing in to take you down And there's not enough sand to go around The only thing that can help you now Is the black book in the lost bookshelf Cut your palm And take your blood And on the cover of the black book Write "BEWARE!" Just like the fallen heir And sacrifice your life To the greater good Just like all of us knew you would For time repeats itself just like it should THE END... Until the book is read again |