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Lower Dens
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Hospice Gates
On the hill adorned in dew, I miss seeing you through your den of verse. In the clinic stall they've confined me to. Loose the noose I wear and I'll run away with you. All riled, Night's young, I lunge, Gutted on hospice gates. Into these rooms, Your bawdy verses boom. 'If you don't know me now, You'll know me soon.' All riled, Night's young, I lunge, Gutted on hospice gates.
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