The Last Word
The Gothic writer is at his desk
Thinking of new stories to entertain his readers
He has his pen and writing pad at hand
Waiting for inspiration
Ghosts and goblins pass in and out of his mind's eye
But the author is tired
He is now 83 years old
He has written many books
A glass of red wine is by his side
He feels his age
This will be a quiet death
His legacy will last
The characters he has created will live in the imagination
And entertain generations to come
Old houses and deserted graveyards
All scenes for malicious intent
The fireplace burns brightly
The old author starts to dream
These will be his last thoughts
He passes from mortality into immortality
He no longer exists but his spirit lives on
Thinking of new stories to entertain his readers
He has his pen and writing pad at hand
Waiting for inspiration
Ghosts and goblins pass in and out of his mind's eye
But the author is tired
He is now 83 years old
He has written many books
A glass of red wine is by his side
He feels his age
This will be a quiet death
His legacy will last
The characters he has created will live in the imagination
And entertain generations to come
Old houses and deserted graveyards
All scenes for malicious intent
The fireplace burns brightly
The old author starts to dream
These will be his last thoughts
He passes from mortality into immortality
He no longer exists but his spirit lives on
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