Arrowheads, falling asleep 

Black wheatgrass is the dark blue storm

Sleeping arrowheads longing to morn

Juice of the corpses 

mortuary sorted 

Standing at the camp

Humors, bile and can’t 

It’s hard to see the souls of dead

Trying and waiting bled

Juice of the corpses 

loose faithful mortals 

Black wheatgrass wearing the hailstorm 

A dress from a maelstrom 

A wasted crop for all

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