Brel
no no more your sweet prince
every heavy drop of rain resonates with my hid tears
my groans fill subliminal caverns where
each stalactite drips into a bottomless quagmire
quenching no substantial thirst
undeclared unrelenting and unrequited
irrevocably the matter of facts
the matter of fact
the stuff of dreams lost in the mists of time
endless threads fighting amidst garbled type
preacherless our little temple
a little dome forlorn and ruinous
soon to be forgotten
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