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and every memory of all things, what were they worth, another day in the sunshine sitting


on a bench, another day somewhere in the park walking upon the grass, yet where was


it I was walking to, where was it the pathway leads, unto the greatest imaginings imaginings


unto the peach, what a gift it twas, what a gift, a magnificent night, to follow a perfect day


so many of them I can remember, the wind sometimes speaks for me, ever caring about


a candle, evermore evermore the flame, what does it matter, what did matter, nothing


yet to try again, yet to live on into the mystery, yet to feel some way, all the candles alight


in the temple, all the ways, always, to the incense burned, to the demons we summoned


together, to the the angels form, thou hast no place in my memory lest thy all givingness


is to me the same as thee, I cannot show you a way to live, but I can be the thief, all I've


ever known is nothing, giving everything, and in return everything I have had, in all the


way ways to be, everything must mean something, and something must be, yes, some


things that may be, some ways to be are something, and another way I will go, at the


crossed crooked sign post at the crooked crossed road, two ways there lay into the wood


drive a spike in it I did, and from the wall the mirror's reflection, and from the spike did


I hang my wicked hat, and wear the hat, I did, through all the built up, momentary bliss


through all the painful revolutions, through the battle of self so devilish, so fiendish, to


be wicked, the tearing up of the mask, to glue the pieces of the eggshell again, to watch


how the eggshell lays itself, and crasks the mask within, smashing the mirror somehow


fixes it, and by fixing it, smash againe, break thou contented spirit just to find thyself


a friend, just to sit in the shed, just to get away, just to be in the shack, to buy every


last prize in the ancient machine, all the quarters spent, all the mechanism rust does glow


and unto the chicken, and unto the garden, and unto the deathly game, another thing


I will never remember, the first word on the first morning, and take me there, will you


take me there, I have once been before, I have seen the wreathe inside with my name


written on the door, in the signpost, the crooked sign, the glow worm spoke to me


and what it said, i'll never know again, true, but I know which direction leads to what



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