the blaze Is infinite, eternal: this is death, To die and know it. This is the Black Widow, death.
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If we see light at the end of the tunnel, it the light of the oncoming train.
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Tamed by Miltown, we lie on Mother's bed;
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your old fashioned tirade— loving, rapid, merciless— breaks like the Atlantic Ocean on my head.
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the scythers, Time and Death, Helmed locusts, move upon the tree of breath;
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