the story of the lost child
there is a clangingand a bong
inside my weary head
it makes me wish
that it was me
who was really dead
asleep at last
in deaths cold grip
at least i would have rest
the screaming dreams
and the tears
i think it would be best
i try to hide
within these thoughts
but fear gives me away
i cry out in pain
and run from there
to live another day
and now i run
forever lost
down forbidden streets
i cower from
and i scream
at everyone i meet
please come to me
death my only friend
and take me in your grasp
hold me
comfort this lost child
until..i breath...my last...
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