The Marching Band

Floating like fog in the night, It lingers. Banging its drum, with its frail undead fingers. On an empty chord song, marching into our lives, Grim Reapers gonna get ya, with its sharp seething scythe. A percussion so constant We live fast to deny You can run boy, but from death you can’t hide. HoveringContinue reading “The Marching Band”