I can see you, sitting in your window, looking at me, crying for us.
I can almost touch you, but, no matter how hard I try, our fingers never touch.
Will our torture ever end? The blows from the whip seem to follow me in my dreams.
Will they ever let us go? Yet, I would gladly kneel at the whipping post to touch you again.
Do you feel it, too, my love? Their boots in my sides, the hot iron in my flesh.
Do you hear my cries, dear heart? I can feel the whip on your back, the burning anger inside you.
Be well, my love. I will find a way to free us.
Be well, dear heart. I will erase the distance between us.
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