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Illness
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Nov. 03, 2001 ]
4:11 PM
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Oh give me armour and give me a sword To guard me against this trembling demonic presence That possesses me whole and ensures no respite And throws open the gates of my flesh To be a plaything of others in the night; Anger, sorrow, pain and fear.Oh cast him out like a poor catch, And cleanse me in the sea of my salt tears. But like the unskilled fisherman that I am, My lines merely drag him in again. My brain is pickled in his evil grasp. My body his preserved entity of pain.
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wax
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wane
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