Evil’s dark, sinister candle,
takes me hostage in its light.
So much despair to handle,
while traveling in the absence of sight.
Not a word, Not a whisper to comfort me.
My pertinacity instils that hope of survival.
Though I’m whipped by the curse of society,
and the continuous drones who grant me rival.
Hear not of thy speech or give me hope.
Fear, I have tasted in the valley of sin,
and though my neck shall not feel life’s rope.
I’ll stroll by the river where no man has been.
I hear your words and dodge your daggers.
I will not stand on quick sand that buries deep,
and those who walk with a confident swagger.
Your time will come during a midnight sleep.
Though I face such grave discord in life.
My reproaching soul shall grant me strength,
and the iron giants of dastardly deeds,
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