No Sails to be hoist in the Morning, No Way - just empty Horizons. And deaf is all Noise in the cold Spray, But loud tears what comes in Mind... tears what comes in Mind.
Slow rot all earthly Shells Embrace a thousand Hells
Alone in a Pit with the Demons, Engreased by festering Grotesque, Immured every Limb without Movement Long Nights `till suddenly SmokeLasers light -`till Fires for the Count`s Rise blaze bright
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