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Published on Aug 11, 2010
The match was lit. You threw it upon a bed Of words and set them on fire. Your words still sear. And in our ears we heard your Perpetual torture. Sad Saint. You've burned down your Own forest like you were in Awe of your own hell. But you rise despite yourself In the inferno of your own words. As if you knew We'd raise your miracles again and again.