Ashes

Pretty things all turn to ashes

Chopped up, broken, rust and scratches

Everything must come to an end.

And seen through the glass

Only shadows now pass

Unaware of the loss of a friend.

Despair reaches icy fingers

Where hopeless thought lingers

Playing the songs of the dead.

Biting cold steel

Reminds I can feel

And the carpet dries in red.

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