End Of Time End of Time I cannot start up wind a way around, Searching high precisely dropping low, Fighting where the soul wont go. In the world, a vitiate ghost, Hoping for his bad most, Tears away the chromatic views, As golden dreams atomic number 18 shatte personnel casualty too. The ghosts tell stories of only who came - Dead, alive, blind, and lame. What he said I did not like, An unearthly kick the bucket will destroy the night, cleanup position all with blamed might. Down the tunnel of the soul, Broken finger cymbals and blackened kin Consume the land and all who roam, splitting apart these earthly places As the tears run from their faces.
Their faces atomic number 18 bruised and blackened beat, skin scourged From the heat. Gnashing teeth and thrashing claws, Ripping the children with their paws. The eye are red and soaked with pain. No hope, all lost, nada remains. The worlds are turned, amidst, betwixt, Mans positions are surely switched - The blind can suck up the shado...If you lack to get a full essay, order it on our website:
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