Arms of Evil
 
They reach up through blazing volcanoes
Clothed in lava and bitter spices
Slithering around toward empty souls
To wrap their tails around their torsos
 
Their cries are whispers against the wind
Nobody’s home to subdue the rant
The world is a vacuum with ardent dreams
A helping hand but far out of reach
 
Evil’s a bosom for souls to rest in
Reaching for something to cling onto
From nothing they rose
To something they found
A place in the world to call home

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