| If the first light left me seen, then by the first strike I’ve been struck.
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| God help me. |
| I’d stumbled upon the crowd, at first, in jest. |
| But I remained,
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| if only out cold
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| I once told you my scars burn like hot iron. |
| I’ve endured the day’s tolls,
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| and held my back to ills. |
| But if I’m to bear this load, then let me craft of
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| it the hand that grips my throat
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| If I put in all my fears, then at least what’s stored is kept, albeit locked in
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| this room
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| Grab hold, and you won’t let it go. |
| I might choke out a phrase that’s honed
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| with bile. |
| Safe journey on you. |
| You’ll run in a maze cut from my lines.
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| A strong word rings out like a shot. |
| I knew its aim would hit the mark
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| This golem I’ve made wants me dead. |
| It’s been programmed blow for blow.
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| Surprise-you bought it. |
| Hell, I did
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| I need one shape. |
| I need one place for aim: one rock and chisel,
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| hewn into place, and resting atop the thinnest strawman stand
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| It seems we’re going anywhere but where I win, or anywhere at all
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| Grab hold, and I won’t let it go. |
| I’ve called out a name that’s robed in time.
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| Safe journey on you. |
| You’ll run in a maze that’s all mine. |
| Safe journey onward.
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| I’ll call on the walls down around us both
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| A hidden ghost forms, and cleaves right through me; |
| drawn as familiar,
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| drawn to my call |