March on Twenty Eight

Sorrow sings his hard lament
His woeful light of grey
All things he touches turn to ash
No gods to which he prays

The dusty light inside his room
Bring tears of dust and slime
The rashes on his skin are red
The daylight blocked by grime

He wanders aimless miles go by
His troubles follow hard
Don’t ponder where he’s going now
Distance growing yard by yard

He’s the dreamer in a nightmare
The mortal trapped in hell
His dead end road is winding
He’s trying can’t you tell?

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