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He's On My Doorstep. I Feel The Cold.
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July - December 2005 I have a honest mouth and I speak with poetry,
Suffocated by the dreams of my enternal misery,
As death softly whispers me a darkened lullaby,
The shattered words form my malicious dreams,
I am in the darkness as my violent heart screams.
The comforting shadows will follow me in death,
They will be watching when I take my final breath,
Even the dead are followed by haunting nightmares.
