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suicide poem

muffled drum's sad roll has beat
there is a country full of wine
rising moon has hid the stars
from our hidden places
in september
very well, you liberals
i loathed you
when you come tonight
did you ever hear of
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
thoughts through my head
let us express our baser passions
in the cloud-gray mornings
in your arms was still delight

 



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