We peddled past blue dreams,
A tunnel not unlike rivers,
Hopes glistening like salvation,
With sarcophagus drifting overhead.
How could this be,
The light being robbed silently;
Pried out of our bleeding palms,
Taking him with them.
Was he a replacement,
To the real prey, we wondered;
And now the grounds have sunken,
Sealing us in toneless nights.
I don't want him gone,
But through him I found you;
Thrashing in the same darkness,
Finding the light in the past.
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