Oh streets, your weeping cobbles shine
Against the moonlight, wailing sirens
Beckon those that have succumb
To fill your guttered lines with souls.
Blistered, bloated, wandering lost
Through invalid eyes – flies feast
On stale skin, as deep within
The eruptions pulse to a deathly drum.
One by one they fall in line
Upon swarming sewer drains,
Stacked, like broken branches cau...

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