The bell rings . . .
It's a decade past my decadence
My beast wears rings and he's waiting
In the shadows of my hesitations, my silent
Hesitations . . . Each image is so clear;
It seems I have no hands
The gestures of the air confuse all my demands
And the beast hears the bell; he comes
Out of the shadows. He rips apart the shadows . . .
And he says:
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