Shadows lurk upon the floor
 The daylight hours soon no more
 The hammer rings
 Upon gold things
 Immersed in crimson fire

 The people walk across the square
 Furtive glances, no longer there
 The bell tongs
 The sound of gongs
 The daylight hours now retire

 The doors open soft and quick
 The light appears from candlesticks
 The flames flare
 Then are not there
 Returned to eternal oblivion

 The night brings soundless sleep to those
 Who need not care nor carry woes
 Their sleep is deep
 Yet no one weeps
 For all feel sick revulsion

 The box is placed within the ground
 The speech that follows, not profound
 They all then leave
 No time to grieve
 As repetition returns it's hold

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Last edited May 24, 2001 17:07 (diff)