The Dead Orchid
My spirit walks the graveyard,
The music sickly sweet,
My tomb is coated with my shroud,
Folded so neat.
The flower of the mourners,
Left in the wind,
One stays dry and cold,
The Orchid , the flower of sin.
The sobering touch of autumn,
Sweeping my soul away,
The rain will soon pass,
All I pray is to stay.
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