| After the boy had taken a walk
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| with his dear — deceased — Grandmother,
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| his feet were somehow led to a small, ancient church,
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| wich was giving quite an imposing grandeur.
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| Partially sunken in the morass if the marshland
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| all foggy and chronically overcast…-
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| the ancient house was waiting.
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| The haunted house lies waiting.
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| Clockwise the stone flight is spiralling upwards,
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| but soon the passage becomes too small to get on…-
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| even though the boy’s now crawling.
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| Anxiously he attempts to restrain,
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| but his way back semms to be obstructed:
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| Gelatinous hearts are linded-up along the walls,
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| each of them inseminated — or defiled — by a black
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| tadpole.
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| A stone lion promises to be the boy’s rescue…-
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| but only, if he eventually… stops running away… from
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| him… |