Images from Hell
DYING TIME War is an angry dimension Of souls all bloodied and torn, Good minds all wasted everyday And the hometown people mourn. Intertwined in a memory block Are scenes from this horrid time, The illicit odor of dying flesh And another mountain to climb. Then roses start to grow now In all the fields of pain, Fertilized only by the blood of man The dead, the wounded and insane, The dying time is gone for me But still lingers in my mind, Fingers of hate behind my eyes Squeezing nerves throughout they bind. Now only death will heal These crazy thoughts in me, Storming through the waves of war Blood and death is all I see, The flowers bloom in that far off land But when will the roses grow for me, Upon my death is the likely time Nurtured and fertilized by only me.
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