Now for some reason I remember it so
Like the stories foretold
That here where all has died
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and rye
No longer they are seen by the eye
By those who once would pass by
Nor can they be seen as those days
Pristine, not of decay
For time has passed
And nothing I guess truly does last
As evidence shows
Nothing has grown
Just barren and cold
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