#15 – It’s not empty


Perhaps the angels are all sleeping
And heaven will not hear this
But there’s a little child weeping
Questioning creation and all of this

In all likelihood, we’re in hell she said
But don’t try to reason you way out
You’ll only keep flailing till you’re dead
Then you’ll see there’s nothing to fuss about

I’d venture a guess, but I don’t know who’s listening
And there’s clues for those who wish to find it
First, within a forest grave you’ll find treasure glistening
Lastly, the ink on the page will not blot.

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