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"You're all the fucking enemy, |
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Another sign of the plague within" |
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Voices from a mountain, peacock in the sky |
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Under a lavender-imbrued |
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Black vainglorious veil so visible |
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Light my mirror with the tumbling glow |
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Of your perfect bathic baetyl |
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Ocellated god spoke to the crowd |
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Through tremolo bells from a city window |
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While from the hills out back, not quite as loud |
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Came the horses' more uneven tremolo |
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Inside: mornings, writings, hope, |
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Reproductions of the most famous Van Gogh |
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Outside: only my scotoscope |
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It was night, out here |
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And always would be |