It's a damp darkness here,
all the laughter has died away.
Chained to an invisible sadness,
a shadow hovers above in grey.
Crossroads cross too often,
I forget the many milestones past.
This path is so full of dust and grime,
the tears are the rain of the wrath.
Crimson hues scattered on pages,
the winds sing a dirge.
Sunlight has been victimized,
comprehension has been cursed.
What does the grave say, I wonder,
as it speaks in cunning tongue.
But life has been a jackal all along,
sparing its smirk to none.
It appears a dark comedy has made its mark this lifetime.
The entire illusion of meaning has committed all the crime.
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