The Doom

The doom of certain men arrives
As sure as summer fades away
And fall turns into winter, as

In desolate and dark array
The battery of fates that call
Leave no surprises left at last;

There’s no one, nothing, left at all.
The crow alights, the die is cast,
And fading into fields of gray

The certain doom of men holds sway:
The time is now, the place is here,
The crow has sung
No rest
No fear

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