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 ^{(it's beta!)}

Perching on a bed Of nails and spines, You whisper words about our thoughts in lists Then lying on a quilt Of dormant mines You shout a pledge that echoes through thin mist. She hears your noise; Mistakes it for her song An orphaned ballad shamed to fail our plans My ears make lyrics, Deaf of right and wrong And nothing left but courting prudence stands.