The Promised Land
So this is the promised land,
Where fire sears the sky at dusk
And shooting stars impend of doom.
So this is the land where milk and honey
Flow red to rage, as a storm ripping thunder
That surfs to your ears on rolling waves.
From here, in the most promised fields,
A wind howls ice that chills to the bone,
And all that's growing, heroic or craven,
Freezes, dead blue cold.
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