How darkly the dark hand met his end
He was withered and boney, exposed for a phoney
But we heed the last words that he penned
Haste to disgrace the traitor. Do not wait til later
I don’t think that you’ve got to pretend
I see God in birds and Satan in long words
But I know what you need in a friend
So now when I leave you, I hope I won’t see you

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