On wind blown evenings
With winter descending
While the wider population dreams of suicide.
When did you become so cowardly
You can't leave your own bed?
Coiling amongst the shadows
Like a spider in the woodpile,
While tragedy sits down the road
In a shadow play of burning wreckage.
In some last gasp
You will be forced to confront
That moment you were asked
To betray everything you ever believed in;
How you committed without a quiver
With an ease you’ll never reconcile.
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