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there, where you live, live: start over, everyman, with the algae of your dreams.
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Darling Death shouted in his ear,...
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old Death, dusty gardener, are you alive yet, do I live on yet, in your gray considering eye?
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Bite down on the bitter stem of your nectared...
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I remember a dream two nights ago: the voice, 'the artist must create himself or be born again.'
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