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Scribbled Poem - The Blood of Dawnwalker

Scribbled Poem

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Desperate poet's scribbles.

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Scribbled poem

The blood, the blood
Is flowing down the pews
We knew, we knew
That our fight we would lose

Our blood, our blood
Is filling their mouths foul
They come, they come
Predators on the prowl

My blood, my blood
It feels no longer mine
It dries, it dries
On our new false god's shrine

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