| CARUSOISM |
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| ROTTEN ARCHES |
Caskets are made
To wait for death
Who knows where?
Your final breath
A wooden bed
With ground as covers
So damp and sad
While it smothers
The casket reeks
With cracks and leaks
Time still not through
With the body you knew
The body will decay
But if it had a soul
It won't be for here
It will be to go
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