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Freedom is like a man who kills himself Each night, an incessant butcher, whose knife Grows sharp in blood.
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People fall out of windows, trees tumble down, Summer is changed to winter, the young grow old...
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It may be that the ignorant man, alone, Has any chance to mate his life with life...
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I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill.
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If her horny feet protrude, they come To show how cold she is, and dumb.
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