When the Moon grows large and it's rays turn to silver Young lovers are drawn by its call to the shimmering river. There they embrace with their hearts aflutter. Their eyes shiny portals to the depths of their souls. There is nothing but their heartbeats, And then there is. Standing in the mystic half light with his patched hooded cloak His gloves torn in some contest with unforgiving fate
Yet the starch in his grey waistcoat matches the sobriety of the white mask. He entrap the lovers with a silken cord of voice, Weaves a tale of loss and sorrow like a cage around their forms And it's said that those with selfishness or no True Love in their hearts Are found in the cold morning in the river Floating lost down the stream. - by Stephen Thompson Image: Call of Cthulhu from CardGameDB.com
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