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Allelse · 36-40, M
All warmth has its abode of shadow, a place for the nether thoughts, that sweep like wind through the echoing halls of consciousness. Its cold there, and quiet. Not at peace, but still, stagnant, timeless, unending. A whisper in the dawn, I whisper, touch not again this cold place beneath the rosy happy cheeks, of this happy go lucky scamp, touch not again those timeless passages, which endure long after I am gone, and have become another.