Haunted - Blood Rust

Stale drops of inferior taste.
Handed down just to lay to waste.
Foul scent of a dream gone bad.
Die the death that he never had.

I've seen the flaming sights
I've walked that dreaded mile.
Religious fragmentation
I gasp another line.

So be it
This place turns to dust.
So be it
Our blood turns to...(more)

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