| Her star rises in mist from the sea at evening
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| ‘Remember the beauty of my caress'
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| O memory -- her wares cannot perish
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| How I smell the perfume in her blood
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| My fever is high
|
| I’ve seen through the sheltering sky
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| To the horrors above this Sharp Edge of the Earth
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| Who can defend love?
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| That night he woke sobbing, a well miles deep
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| To the streets of gold falls his dimming star
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| No memory save the faceless voice whispering
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| ‘The earth is sharp, trust the blade that cuts you'
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| My fever is high
|
| I’ve seen through the sheltering sky
|
| To the horrors that lie on this Sharp Edge of the Earth
|
| Who can defend love?
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| The Earth’s Sharp Edge
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| Is sharpened by the will to approach death
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| And the flower that dies
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| Is the one we nourish the most
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| The hour arrives
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| When the bloom turns to dust
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| And the earth’s sharp edge cuts you
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| Finally the garden is barren
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| The blind fluttering moth toward the candle flies
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| Offers blessings to thee, then burns falls and dies
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| To the streets of gold fall its burning wings
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| Like our prayers of incense its smoke rises to God |