Death In the Doorway
death's stood in the doorway
but i'm no good with words
so my pleas for mercy
come in the form of
fresh bandages on old wounds
and plastering my vices on greeting cards
though the reaper argues
that if there was any value
in a butterfly whose wings
are pinned to a corkboard
or a soul with one foot in the grave
and the other being fed to wolves
he'd carry his mercy in spades
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