Down in the park,
where the mad men grow,
the sun sets between withered branches,
only to welcome in the bruised blue sky
and the man in the moon.
The dark things sing in the dead of night,
giving voice to the vicious shadows that seem to move
when you can't look.
where the mad men grow,
the sun sets between withered branches,
only to welcome in the bruised blue sky
and the man in the moon.
The dark things sing in the dead of night,
giving voice to the vicious shadows that seem to move
when you can't look.
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