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Withered

Withered be the flower

Long past it's prime and bloom

Forgotten on the stony bed

This silent hillside tombFor coppered be the grip

Of this wooded land

A crude cold gauntlet

Hides the bony handThe tears once warmed the ground

Torn out of eyes that could cry no more

Compassion for the wind to take

Ohh, doth pity the bastard poorA life of misery and hate

Upon a chance a twist of fate

The poison from the goblet ran

Down the throat of her drunken manWithered be the flower

Long past it's prime and bloom

Forgotten on the stony bed

This silent hillside tombFor coppered be the grip

Of this wooded land

A crude cold gauntlet

Hides the bony hand

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