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Quicksilver
Author: Rick Ryckman

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Darkness appears swallowing the night.
The wind is blowing through my soul.
The sounds of sorrow are felt.
Silently they are painting the blackness crimson.
The black dogs of hell come riding their quicksilver.
They pillage with there harden touch.
Evil comes spewing its rancid breath.
My soul has dripped into the well of darkness.

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