Young folk in search of death
Running wisely after it
Eyes blinded by witchcraft of sight
Senses seared by the rust of lust
Till the death’s tentacles plunge deeper
Suck dry our life current
And we terribly fall drooping
Under the chilling shadows of hell
Fallen foolish warrior
Who need not have died
Young and of juvenile crop
Full of energy and strength
With quite a promising projection
But ceased for principle compromise’s sake
At the slight sup of temptation
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