ADEAD SOUL
Like a vine stripped of its unripe grapes
like a blossomless olive trees
so be it mine dead soul/
yet if i speak, not a relieve for mine pain
and if i refrain, away goes not either
mine face be redden with weeping
yet free have been mine hands
mine spirits broken and mine days are shorter.
the Ripper does beckon and mine eyne have dimmed
the lite does shine faintly,
my days have gone, mine hearts desire have lost the vigor
where be then Faith....
whom sees Hope for me, do sermon Him..
shall to St. Peters Gates ascend with me...or will down befallen and be the lost among the lost
like a blossomless olive trees
so be it mine dead soul/
yet if i speak, not a relieve for mine pain
and if i refrain, away goes not either
mine face be redden with weeping
yet free have been mine hands
mine spirits broken and mine days are shorter.
the Ripper does beckon and mine eyne have dimmed
the lite does shine faintly,
my days have gone, mine hearts desire have lost the vigor
where be then Faith....
whom sees Hope for me, do sermon Him..
shall to St. Peters Gates ascend with me...or will down befallen and be the lost among the lost
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