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■ The oak
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Past the boundary of slumber
Beyond my thoughts of crimson Lay the grey-clouded skies Held in place by led horizons Amorphous bleak shillouetts I encounter'd where i roved The carving-clad walls Noone vaguely recalls, but me I petty myself for entering Realms I needn't have thought Of thinking, and I await doom Calmly, yet untainted and happy For I know of all They called me the mad one For I had been beyond
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