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Description
This world is a mess
Source
not provided yet
The grimace of a world chagrined
The phantoms of the quailing crowds
Still whisper on the hollow wind
Of hooves that beat forward and on
From out another darkless night
And unto one more shrouded dawn
And though each bears a different name
Be it Terror or Hope or Wrath
Each road is trodden just the same
And with them the course that was laid
And stillness will hang soft and low
And silence call to be obeyed
All things fade, all things fade