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In her large hearses,

Decorated of feathers,

In the morning, through the fog,

Death is coming.

To the howling of violent organs,

Death, all in darkness,

Rules like an idol,

Trapped in my head.

The old Death, agressive and abrupt,

Rings the bell of the funeral,

Night falls like the verdict,

Heavy nights, moldy nights.

Tragic, black and legendary,

Stincking feets, demented gests,

Death, brushes off in a huge hole,

The whole world in a cemetery.