As your cross burns to an end upon the moor,
look back and decide not bother,
the grass will grow again,
after weeping after ghosts,
its time to waltz forward and dance with the faeries,
dance for the morn and dawn,
through where memories are torched beneath the barley,
and your whilst screams echo through the fields,
I see a path through the pain on the horizon,
but the light is just another burning cross upon my moor,
TBC
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