Semantic Wars III: Death by hanging . . .out

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She was 18, vast and scarce;

Wheelin’ down the crest of night.

Hail nay wail, all but farce;

Yearning the naught of cruel light.

 

She wore the roar;

And colour and lure.

Rushed into the rave and more and more;

Hugger-mugger as she said, ‘nevermore’.

 

She was 18, vast and scarce;

Singing out the tune of subtle lies.

Relished all the good force;

Sweet recompense was the small cries.

 

She was 18, and I am 29;

She lead and tread where now I leave.

Far from beyond, a decade and one;

Wondering how the wanders were mine.

 

She was 18 and was gone;

Her voice perched the soul , oh! as we.

While I am lost, lost and certain;

Rekindling her life so scarce and was me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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