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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.
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