Desolation 3
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These solemn streets are plagued by sickly moons.
These ragged junkies and winos are turning blue
In unforgiving, wanton, wintry nights.
There is not even a glimmer of light
To cling to, or guide one, towards new dawns.
O this modern world is torpid and torn!
I often wish my prayers could break the sky
Into pieces so grace and mercy, like
Tears, would pour down through the cracks,
And rectify what crude consciences lack.
Bu şiiri puanla
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