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The birth of man was the birth of hell the wrathful flames dance around my head falling figures, burning dead a well once filled with flowing water now an endless tunnel of hate and squalor cove |
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Once, with locks of hair all burned off, to leave me bare a hand that once reached out to feel now gropes about for something real |
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I try to hold onto what |
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I've found but the heat of the touch me |
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Ll to the ground pulling back, inside my head |
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I watch for hours, the listless dead from my hear flows the tears giving no life to that which is seared |
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I wait for the day when only ashes appear n |
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G gained--and no more fear and once again |
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I will be pure |