The world comes and goes,
a world of Lazarus and Jesus,
and Michelangelo,
The unseen shadow that dwells,
in the consciousness that fell,
to the broken and down...
a host?
The crawling sick that heals,
to the body that shouldn't feel,
but leaves a scar,
that meals upon the flesh,
and becomes it.
Becomes the mouth that talks,
and the bound legs that walk,
but halt,
It changes back and forth,
but lets it believe,
at fault...
The world comes and burns,
to a world of "Sparrow" and "Poe"
and thine old "Lucifer"...
So now the shadow has risen,
taken over and has been,
waiting to see the next kin,to fall into his abyss...
Now this scar has become a disease,
mealing upon your soul to bleed,
eating your sanity up,
like fleas...
But the world comes and goes...
you see?
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