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by Marty J. Reep, 2012 The brackish water of Lakenheath Calls for souls long dead. It reaches into misty night And takes new ones from bed. It turns and looks upon the road Then stretches hand out forth And places back in open graves Those new souls now uncorked. Fear grips the necks of those who walk Along that road at night And speaks to ears of water world That takes from men their sight.