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At The Fall |
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The age-old halls once filled with light, Our fastnesses in better days, Lie open to the abyssal Night; Our ancient, most familiar ways, Our long-loved places ruinous fall, Trod by no human feet. |
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The whispers from beyond our walls Are ceaseless in these final days; Horrors gather, pale death crawls, Beyond our lamps' chill waning rays; The tables where we feasted stand An awful horror's seat. |