The Pain of Enticing Ice
Th'pain of ice is th'lacquer o'stife
To th'begg'd bane, stilled, thawed
Caught'n satin fame, dragg'd towards
Th'Blood of a sadden'd kiss,
"To this"
"To what o'this"
Seen 'nstead of 'nfringed love
The blade, call'd catharsis a dove,
"To this"
"To what o'love"
Fraught, unthought shove
Fame fall'n still, dripp'd 'n drench'd f'love
Bade blade ripp'd the blanch'd flesh
O'th'pure goers' eternal rest
Lay hereafter, for'ver after,
Goeth detestable pest, upon th'
Holied site o'pelted tundra
Lay'n to rest lover o'blunder,
"To us"
"To th'last of us"
"I must"
"T'what you lust"
"To this"
"..."
The pain of ice is the cold of fear
To whatever may lay here
To whatever may stain the clear
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