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I thought I met a reflection
But coffee only flows down my back
Alone as it burns

All I have remembered
Is your chaos
As Iım crucified in cold winter nights

I thought I would open a door
And let my soul pour out
From my pale palms

All I have to recall
Is the brief glance
A friend from years ago

I go on
As the boxking crushes my head

My art is dead
As all the fury is dying tonight

İ 1998 David Greg Harth