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poem

truely
i had a dream and i awoke with it
it tells of good old times
there is a city, builded by no hand
who loves the rain
if the red slayer think he slays
in halls of sleep you wandered by
if i were very sure
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
some of the hurts you have cured
perhaps it is no matter that you died
but alas, just dreams

 



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