Day and night,
There stands a knight.
Playing same song,
Without a note played wrong.
He watches them rise,
He watches them fall.
He was the last,
And the first of all.
On a stone of mud,
With a song from within.
With teardrops of blood,
On his soul.
Soul
Conjured by Mr.L.A.N.K.A at 2:57 AM
Tags: ClueLessReality, Life, Poems
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