for what are gathered all of these?
as crimson clouds congeal
for whom all fallen unto knees?
'twas but a dream, it wasn't real
so simple then to frame the loss
it's not us, it's them
as demons sipping at our dross
eternal blight of men
raise your eyes unto the sky
lend hands to those but come of late
we're not to languish, but to fly
beyond this static state
you took the cup and drank the wine
the body followed soon
fastened in a length of twine
our deeds are crimson hewn
breathe somehow, where there is naught
but chaos swirling in our lungs
our thoughts, our faith too fraught
with bile from chaos tongues
three days and nights to burn within
dark passage felled anon
lift gaily former flask of sin
for you are overcome
for what do any here stand tall?
to whom to lend a hand?
then raised on a cross to fall
and spew the blessed land
with hope
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