(No More Paintings) 6 - Damp Taste

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The howls of hell are so loud. 

They call me down, I don't want-  

I don't want to visit hell! 

I won't leave my hometown now, 

but the fires of hell call! 

They have called my name- My name! 

And said I am a red man. 

They don't know who the 'red' is. 

The sounds grow louder, louder! 

I don't know who speaks right now. 

I'm not aware who visits.

Faster, must we not ignore 

the kind of place demons love. 

The sort of pace they adore-  

The kind of haste, the damp taste

they seem to think people have. 

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