It triggers the fall slowly
With the light of a candle
Suggesting this chest only
The weight it can handle
But the desease grows strong
Then it consumes all the troubles
And pulls out the insides
to wait till this puddle bubbles
And crimsons the green lights
Yet there is nothing wrong
With being broken
The clock keeps pulsing for shadows
Of scattered confusion
Politely pierce through and there goes
This faithful illusion
That sought for signs to prove
Yet fairly loathsome truth
Remains unspoken
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