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Proem to PainIn the throes of passionate decline, I weep the bloodshed of my days of past; weep them as I recline, sobered, on this bed.Proem to Pain
The minutes, the memories no more, reflect off this mirrored present; two-fold in their intensity, they eat of the reserves of the energy lent.
And those tears of blood seep through unseeing eyes, which gaze upon a sight unseen, into a tormented soul that slowly dies.
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