Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Hell
Like the clack of the track
The rhythm goes on and on
The rail runs cold into the black
Away into a sunset for all
The clouds are white, turning black
All fear thrives along with our sins
Pushing away it's just a fact
They come back haunting over and over again
Four best words, just an excuse
The reasons dwell pure under my realm
For just a pleasure people I reduce
Clouds my eyes in a film
The whistle blows cold to the air
The train shudders, decreases, and stops
I disembark in a new land and stare
At the land of everything that's not
poem
by
Midnights Voice
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black