We used to wake up early Saturdays,

and count all our change.

Stopping along the way,

for ice-cold technicolour.

Love and laughter,

arcades and Game Overs.

Our imaginations set free,

Necromancers, free fields, and deadly dragons...

Down by the dark ravine.

A young milk-white face. 

Eyesockets buzzing with flies.

His limp body hangs.

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