Epilogue

At the desparate you are sad, over drips of rain and blow of wind. Creep my spine back static with my skin
compound to curve along tendon, moisture surround thine eye.

Overheating through muged air then I have to feel the building of irritation to
drain the body of any happiness and comfort and a finale of anxiety pertrude forth as I enter the room.

Though crisp wood an fresh iron all around. the solid structure was not reflect in heart, all around is the fruit of
this good earth yet it will not fermend me in the company of the other tyranese of womb
without which I would promptly enter myself into asylum.

“Why is it thta although I give my love? To this beautiful land. As of yet I am to recieve it in return,
nothing more than the frivolous thought of a fool

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