The body hasn’t been found yet,
But if they ever do, it won’t look well.
Eyes of gray, where ghosts like to dwell,
Covered in leaves, it looks like he just fell,
It’s a man whose dreams made his hell,
In his presence, you couldn’t really tell.
If he ever passed you by, you wouldn’t look,
Because you know very well, it’s much better,
When such a pain doesn’t make your weather.
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