To then venture out from agenda
To a lot place of granite
Your runner for a drunkard
The horrors on some roads
Figured
Scratching across death throes
The kingdom somehow grows
Sorry for the mistletoe
The trains robbed daily
Wraiths of traitors
Swamps with hungry alligators
The dripping of every morning
Of each invisible moment
Of bells
And hidden troubles
The remains remain
And I say nothing.
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