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This musty Gray cold stone

Buried deep your embers

A flame that burned to reach the sky

That no one remembers

A cathedral  of long dead dreams

Echoes the cries

The hope that life has bestowed

It has a place to die.

Gates open cold gale wind

Smell the rotten air

When you fly to close to the sun

Your Wings will burn as you stare

Somethings will not be

As oblivion awaits

Where Dead dreams are laid to rest

To never escape their fate.