Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth
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By Havo(C)405

One thousand hand-picked desert roses
upon one thousand shallow graves
their cedar markers remember all that their namesakes gave
We sing to heroes poised in heaven
We chant their names one by one in stately prayers saved for the martyrs who
remain forgotten in the battlefields
the depraved and robbed.
I saw a wounded tin-clad soldier finally fall upon his knees
an axe gash deep to his shoulder
his failing breath the breeze that makes us shudder
while it carries that breath off in to the clouds.
One by one we all fall down
to find our peace within the ground
to praise the black blood of a Mother we all found
in the cymbals
in the ashes
that is our soul
our home.

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