a mute cry seems to slip off these long dead lips ..above, empty sockets peer from their nothing.. to ponder how this was ever allowed.. why it was not set adrift at the first sign of fire, or.. for that matter, the last breath of bliss.. the skull's grin upon being once again covered by a layer of living flesh, should seem to have been drawn straight from one of the grand old tales writ of malice, torment, and woe.
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