PUDDLES OF CRIMSON

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Shades of red fall from the sky,

Reaching the ground in puddles of crimson.

Footsteps of The Dead linger around Oasis.

Taking their victims in their mighty thrall.

Red keeps falling from the darkening sky.

Covering the grass and trees with its hue.

My face burns hot from its touch.

My heart beats blood in quickening tempo.

The Dead are tracking me through the woods.

I will be one with them all too soon.

THE DEAD GAME

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