"The Spirits have all but fled judgement
I rot, alone, insane,
Where the
forest whispers puce laments for me
From amidst the pine and wreathed
wolfsbane
Beyond these walls, wherein condemned
To the gloom of an austere
tomb
I pace with feral madness sent
Through the pale beams of a guiltless
moon
Who, bereft of necrologies, thus
Commands creation over
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