The Final Hill
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Lyrics
There is a place upon this flat pallette like world
Where the empty white of moors meets a spire like hill
Sitting upon the scalp of this balding plane like an icy crown
It watches the death of those who cease to die
Under the dead luster of a million stars
And in the shroud of forgotten howls
I will fall knowing that the other side I will never reach
But I begin to fade
To join the calm and warmth of vacuity
In the reassurance and comfort of fading
With a million dead and empty stars