In a cold black cavern underground,
where jealousy and fear is found;
In the crumbling church of an old ghost town,
where dust and sin spins round and round;
On a battlefield far from home,
where the coward’s face is never shown;
On a tape that proved we’re not alone,
where roses bloom and hearts are grown;
In a wilderness of snow and ice,
where blood divided reunites;
In the cellar of the sacrificed,
where dwells the dealer’s dangerous vice.
Where all the soulless hearts have cried
and Death herself becomes his bride —
This is the place where love has died.
Cutting the Mustard Rated: T An actual essay I wrote for my English 1101 class in college. (I made an A.)
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