Late last night at rest with my mate
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I'm visited by a victim of hate
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A spectoral group, yet they're one and the same
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They would never live
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Nor would they have a name
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A baby too young to walk or to talk
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Rocked to sleep with a big, heavy rock
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Becomes a tot with a baleful glare
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Sucked from life by a shortage of air
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A child beyond time without gender
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Metamorphing to surrender
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Each shape for one older and still
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No end to how each could be killed
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By chance in the polyverse i'm all of these
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Each to fall prey with unnerving ease
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To who knows which ambiguous marasmus
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It asked at once knowing
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And unknowing the answers
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To things far removed from my experience
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Or need to know and thus it thanked me
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For sparing it death's multiplicitous masques
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And life's thankless laborious tasks
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January, child born alas
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February, still still frail as glass
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March through a formative period you must
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April child, in god, distrusts
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May comes and goes and shortlived is the hope
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June is the halfway mark of your rope
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July child fears end of time
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August child in slow decline
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September, sense starts to fail
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October's child, the burden ails
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November's child malingers on
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December's child is dead and gone
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-----------------
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Cold Hate, Warm Blood
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Cryptopsy |