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Drowsed by rain, wetter than the ocean

Plain to see to the mighty eye

Past the present, burning in delighted tune

Faces, all of which are mine!


So shine they shall, hovering over the clouds

Away from the dust and dirt of life

Only to be weathered; turned to soil, the rocks

Before the shire turns green in the rusted knife!


So grow they shall, away from the sun

To be burned or be buried alive

Only half of a lie, gazing down to the grass

Half awake, but ready to hide!

A dark night, cold, damp and forever in strive

In the mind at days and haunting by the end of the light

Precious, damned to be a wood, immobile

Only the hunters gather their kill, and hungrily eat them alive!


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