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behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
i walk down the garden paths
in may
beautiful, tragical faces
gingham dog and the calico cat
sun stepped down from his golden throne
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
the agony of having too much power
risen from the dead
i am the wind that wavers
i make my shroud, but no one knows
there is a country full of wine
out of me unworthy and unknown

 



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