Once more,
as it was before
chance comes calling
death is on our doors
what comes will have to go
while we lay out the cots
beneath the mango trees
and watch the children
play in the heat
for thirteen days
the sun sets
on a soul in the wind
we mourn him
and we mourn our destinies
for many more suns
will drown
before we wear our deathly crown
live long enough
you’ll see many more born
only to wilt before the morn.
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