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My dear darling,

So afraid of ticking time,

Change and Chaos, chanting rhymes.

Don’t you know?

There’s only death in the end, drawn curtains – a guillotine on all the fancy

Language dies, thought survives maybe a second longer and ends and it all comes full circle

Does is matter how you tend to it? – cloth and boxes and fires, it’s all the same really.

We all want to end pretty but can we?

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