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Deaths Last Drink
Another day another cut,
another wound I cannot shut.
The taste of eternity lies upon my lips,
another glass of death to sip.
Released upon the fallen I weep,
droplets of blood, they slowly creep.
Leaving a tale of woe behind their masks
slowly they fall to the forgetable task.
Just another dream in a sea of pain.
Just another wail in an endless scream.
Another puppet for you to call your own
ever lonely, yet never alone.
The decadent voice calls out for me
as hands entrapt me whilst I try to flee
Their embrace a cold and haunting cell
a place where I can call my hell.
What is left but wasted lies,
all I hear are mournful cries.
The dead they dance until sunrise
where they disappear from human eyes
And now I am one with their kin
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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