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 Grandeur Of Melancholy

Aeon Speak


Aeon face.
Why too late.
For what is to slate.
To grate.

To grim reality.
To grim fate.
To grim humanity.

After burners chase.
Caught in subspecies.
Without anything to show.

Error of mind- hounds behind.
Leaks from the faucet of mind
dripping like hot soup kitchen.

Going craazy with you
in this you protrude,
into the crew of alienation
you nigh the sirens ring
to the sound of crying.

Aeon hear our pleas
untie to the consummation
yet cannot even begin.

Help, help knowing
the answer is no already.
Help, help to hear ourselves
scream.

Out of place for
help not what it used to be.
Down on wounded knee.
To grim face of reality.







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