On a gray Friday
I feel surrounded,By a weeping frame;
I no longer lust,
Any dripping blast;
The night is coming up,
And her kisses drag me,
Upon crawling dreams,
I no longer wanna live,
But,
Being on balance is,
The key of Evolution,
In which,
Written by the sweat of my soul,
My senses will be reborn,
In the rise of a purple storm.
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