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Are we decomposing bodies only? I may only pray I'll know thee when we are torn from the flesh, again split in two. The stone temple crumbles. Lightning strikes a match and an old oak goes up in smoke. The living death that is regret, it poisons the soul. Stared into that void for so long.
We free but not holy. Most know not what they do, for good or ill. Sweet mother of mercy, spare my life so that I might sail on under the sun.