It’s the song of gone-dark cities
Peopled only with bare bones
It’s the scorch, post-detonation
And the lingering of ghosts
It’s the snow-shod, wailing sorrows
Lamenting all that might have been
It’s the exhaustion and the languor
When one’s blood is running thin
It’s the streets awash in crimson
With its broken, lonely stones
It’s a world, though bathed in starlight
One absent of the sun.
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