Blessed are
the Times Gone.
Blessed are the
times gone.
To be part
of the Age,
Is like a rusted
metal,
Inevitably dons wear
and tear.
Weird like ,
weans away ,
The thinning worn out
coils
drop crumbling down
To your feet,
yesterday it was
The steady tunnel, struck its lane,
now wheeling, now
whirling
around, leaving the age to its
dismay and devilish
warp.
Blessed are the
Times gone.
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