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The Reason For Death
He sweeps through the night on a chariot of shadows;
His tears drip like ink upon the world;
His sorrow leaves all in mourning
In mirrored pools of coal-black swirl.
The brightest light cannot pierce his sorrow,
And none can imagine his heart so hollow.
When asked one day why he killed so much,
He could only reply:
"I am Death; what they took from me was life. If I cannot experience their gladness, then everyone must die!"
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