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they may talk of love in a cottage
my sorrow, when she's here with me
i make my shroud, but no one knows
gone are the three, those sisters rare
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
i expect you
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
night was black and drear
the old songs
arched the flood
the agony of having too much power
my mother taught me that every night
i had over-prepared the event
but alas, just dreams

 



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