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Lazarus Curse

Lazarus Curse


I trudge across these ancient lands

Where crops are reared by human hands

And all I leave are footsteps deep

a crop the scythe will never reap


I see the changing seasons turn

The new shoots grow, bonfires burn

From the soil the world will grow

I track the sacred rivers flow


These things of beauty pass me by

I have no soul I cannot die


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