I wander how he know's that i will,
die a bad soul,
decompossed and knowing,
i am but,
will time heal my monster coat,
or will i,
dump all the recassed upon my brow,
that will be,
that is i am incomplete,
i am am tougue,
and cheek of what resounds laughter,
but me not,
what will haunt my soul,
how could i,
i am a thick fog covered in moss,
and it is time,
that grazes on my green self,
indulgent,
to the end and the end is near,
but who,
he is is not the devil but myself,
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