The night is always young.
Through veiled arguments
and vile consequences.
The love was red and the
night was black.
The evening was purple and
the allegations, brown.
A cliché chase, through the
woods and we found a lake,
abandoned for years and
yet so serene.
Confusion and a piercing silent
scream.
Our cover was blown away and
we were found.
The night found us, sleeping.
The world found us, dead.
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