Death is a great waste
A waste of potential flung out of this
place
Nevermore to rise and fall on the wings
of grace
Grace so profound that it ever
increases
Ever increasing and never ceasing
taking its path with care
Reveling some hidden secrets left in a
half-forgotten nightmare
Oh, let the dreary disillusion be done
and never spoken of again
Until by chance a black horse galloping
down from the mountains again
Some secrets should not be left to
chance
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