God is bled dry from the crusted mass
Where black seeps into white
The barron lands are ablaze now
With a war that left them
Lonely for so long.

Militia shiver in the black-grey winds
A rumble beneath draws cracks
Fissures of doubt and missions
Sprout to secede what is real and
To write it in song.

Peel away and repeal the way
We butt and strut to the moon
That sits solitary, beflagged
Behind an endless,
Growing, bastard gloom.



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