When the whispers of men die down
When the skies burn red and the seas boil
When the stars sputter and die
When all is darkness and cold and void
When even the memory of memory
Is but a quarter remembered dream
I alone will recall existence most fondly
But not for a particularly good reason
When the skies burn red and the seas boil
When the stars sputter and die
When all is darkness and cold and void
When even the memory of memory
Is but a quarter remembered dream
I alone will recall existence most fondly
But not for a particularly good reason
No reason for this one, save the blog sat empty and I felt it needed filled. Don't ask me why I like this one. It flowed out without needing to rhyme and right now it looks good to me.
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