Breathneath the Tidal Wave of Blood
Few words don't meet the same line.
But life still meets the final sentence.
Every thread of survival needs to be cut.
A few drops of voice need to keep it shut.
His head throttles to death.
Not every help is heard to be sent.
And all the flowers in the coffin laid the scent.
All his will that wrote had on his consent.
Today, the grave finally sleeps.
And every drop of penny has already kept.
Not a single gold has been waste.
Only the young widow found a night to taste.
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