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the spiral drawn on the same wall, on the opposite side in the same direction is

not going in the same direction, walking up to thyself to meet thyself in thyselves

reflection, to touch the finger tip of the left to the finger tip of the right, the left

pointing towards the spiral, the right pointing toward the left, through thyself

to walk upon the memory of thyself, to break the mirror, and return the mask

the hourglass flips again, and cancels all objections, a word written and forgotten

just as fast, all conjecture is confession, what is it I needed to do, nothing, and

what is it I did, to create a piece of self-mastery in order to come to a conclusion

what was it that kept the pure land so pure, a land unknown now unto existence

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never was there such a hand beneath the sin play to the part of the devil's grinning twas there such a death as to it


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