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My life is nearly over, I leave the rest to you. The dreaming, moon-beaming, blood teeming, I've other things to do. I need to write my will, comb my hair; any last requests?
I try as hard as I can, to fight this battle, but sometimes I just can’t win, and the ennui enshrouds me, in its dark miasma. I have retreated, I ran, away from the sickening prattle,
Expiration nears, Inhuman fears. To be dead tonight, Could make me alright But won't, but won't, but won't.