Absinthe, Father and Laudenam
It cuts like waxworm apples, a satisfying--
It's severed tendrals bathed in moonlight and connected to the earth and it doesn't look back until I've given him eyes, but by then it's too late.
He smiles-- without the slightest sign of hypocracy.
A smile he was meant to smile. To guide the dead along their way, for tonight-- it's visiting hours again.
Tonight this light will stave off the living and make way for the dead.
Keep the candles burning, they'll keep you safe.
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