I carry on, I can hear the eastern sea.
Under the hill, the city sleeps in silent wintertime.
How many times have I walked this bridge across the stream?
Yet, in my mind I know I never walked this road before.
Deep in my dreams lies horror for the books that should not be.
There is no one to keep those dreams locked deep inside of me.
How can this be? My father did not mention any tunnels.
Descending slowly, with creatures that should crawl instead of walk.
Oh Lord, have mercy on my soul!

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