The Purpose of Tragedy


Oh, the dark path that lights the weary way
Enveloping, watching me to my dismay.
The quick mist grows thick, the heavenly scene dies,
Torn apart to grasp my life or my lies.
Our eyes grow deep in developing sleep
The comfort of the watchful care we keep.
What once was shown bright is as dark as night
We're left with our self and our red blood might
The fear we near to our descent-ful cause
It creates a break, our wondering pause
Alone, on our own we meet the demand
A grueling master that keeps his great hand
Who seeks our own thoughts, desires and dreams
Tragedy is funny when it's not what is seems.

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