Here, we breathe, disaster,With our voices, set on high,As death, surrounds us,And our might, has departed,To a stranded shore. I am in love, only with myself,A blessing, that has made, me wishful,A curse, that has made, me lonesome.What have I, turned upon,Where will I, turn upon,Next, when dining upon, a victim?Will I muse, and take

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