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“One by Stewart Stafford Death riding a pale horse, Warned it was time to leave, No hiding place as dice rolled, I sank to my knees to grieve. Six hundred and sixty-six morticians, Greeted the thing from the sea, Scuttling sideways down the road, It headed for Washington D.C. Navel-gazing, not my thing at all, But the Day of Judgement came by, Grabbing my phone lightning-fast, A dying breath to scream goodbye. Firestorms, tsunamis, the dead resurrecting, The sun shattered into nine, Winds that flayed skin from bone, Jester bells at dawn's last shine. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.” — Stewart Stafford
One by Stewart Stafford
Death riding a pale horse,
Warned it was time to leave,
No hiding place as dice rolled,
I sank to my knees to grieve.
Six hundred and sixty-six morticians,
Greeted the thing from the sea,
Scuttling sideways down the road,
It headed for Washington D.C.
Navel-gazing, not my thing at all,
But the Day of Judgement came by,
Grabbing my phone lightning-fast,
A dying breath to scream goodbye.
Firestorms, tsunamis, the dead resurrecting,
The sun shattered into nine,
Winds that flayed skin from bone,
Jester bells at dawn's last shine.
© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.