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Mors Syphilitica
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Dreams of the Money
At the bottom
A past is past and the
field is blind with sun
To the ear
She felt the moment float
She let her faith become
Weak
With a hand
Lift lid for the last
Collects her hem for a run
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Eyes away
God's sweet breath is felt
And the dead branch
Has bloom anew
On a cheek
Pride can truly melt the
Dreams of the many
Lost in the few
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