Poetry

Unholy

Elegant hills, black outfit We dance on the top of the underworld I feel alive It’s the party of the dead Make the skeletons dance The unholy look in your eyes I yearn for themĀ  to look at me But when the arbritrar comes it’s all over I will be judged upon, my soul will be sent away Everyone dances, you don’t stop looking at me You saw what I did, you judged my memory…

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