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On the right |
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Words bleed in delicious erratic motions |
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To waltz and lunge deeply onto the frail paper dungeons |
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With grace, spill their stealthy meaning |
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In a radical pattern of altered spinning |
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Words bleeding |
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A lunatic exorcism of impulsive literary stings |
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Serving the untainted delight of devious cunnings |
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Words bleeding |
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Lucidity may well drown in abstract pondering |
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Following the so crucial anchor into the deepest Inner Ring |
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For magnificent moments flow uninvited |
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As benevolent spirits soaring |
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Just melt the armor |
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And taste the nectar divine |
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The expanded sensorial shelter |
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Of one's Inner Shrine |
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Corruption of a logic understanding |
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I stand naked on an insubstantial sun |
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Telling stories to diseased seraphs |
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Feeble from their linear addiction |
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'Cos memories and huge bipedal monsters |
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Don't agree with each other |
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A fusion so delicate |
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The nails entering lightly, further and further |
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The necessary why and what of a written autopsy |
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Disgust the fact that a fact is a fact |
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Hack the holy artifact so exact in its contract |
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Disincarnate, it is easier to discuss the optical lunar tree |
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Bad men, bad meaningless mean men |
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You should not be bothered when the soul is adrift |
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Seconds are precious |
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Feel them deeply |
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With grace, spill their stealthy meaning |
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In a radical pattern of altered spinning words |