The devil’s in the climate…
And as the winds of season’s change blow.
The dry dust filled air settles…
On the bloodstained lips of Judas.
To see the markings of shadows all about.
In eye’d corners lurk their fingertips.
Slowly peeling back the veil.
Much like the tear of rotting flesh.
Beneath the tree o’life my dreams be hung.
For in flesh they bare word of darkness.
So before these doors from my chest fly open.
Spilling forth the abysmal night.
Lay your eyes forward...
And stab me in the heart.
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