These tales were written on these walls Peaceful nights Coal for the fire in the coldest hearts Eyes are shut but the ears hear the footsteps behind the walls. Light wrestles the overwhelming darkness That cast spell and brings fear Which day is less darker and strange? Where is the watchman that survives a day to tell the story? The hearts of men pound Some for fear and others for evil The order is a sequel That so many read about but disbelieved Until they met the devil in the book. Men play hide and seek with the enemy And the lads learn the coward-way These were the tales written on these walls. The Danes and arrows; the unused toys Buried in the basement for the days of sport And hearts beat like drums Yet the drumming grows quieter before death. They die before knowing death They leave without footprints They robbed life the many years it wanted to stay It still is the same today.
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