ilya
Too flawed and reoccurring,
A withering reprise;
You are a one—recurring,
A lingering surprise;
And day by day, returning,
The feeling thus arise,
One I am not concurring
And mask with a disguise,
And by the night's occurring,
Between the first moonrise,
I close the door of yearning
With dreary, tired eyes.
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Nero Cani
Heavy as heaven, devil's on me, two tons too.
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