A town, a town, it thrived alone around an ageless tree.
Its fruit, its fruit, the people ate, and cherished endlessly.
They sang, they sang, through spring and fall, with voices red with joy,
And danced 'till evenfall, those men and maidens coy.
Two boys, two boys, bound up by blood, they lived just up the hill,
Would play, would play, about the tree, and laugh with voices shrill.
One day, one day, as sun rained down, the brothers came to fight,
For naught could ease their anger born from which was right.
In wroth.. the two boys fought,
Such pain.. they cast each way.
But woe.. against a stone
Now lay.. their brows in twain..
Forever stained.. Forever stained..
"Oh death, oh death," their father cried, their mother white with fear,
"It came, it came, for both my sons, while I stood idly near!"
The blood, the blood, it drowned the roots around that tree of life,
And slayed the fruits above, all poisoned with their strife.
A town, a town, that once lived well, was cursed with swift decay,
Its fruit, its fruit, would never grow, after they died that day.
They sang, they sang, laments and wails, the air a greying haze,
And danced down sep'rate roads, those people parted ways.
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