That only you and I can know. Les deuxAllowing me to let your picture form and wakeIn realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasseAgain awaken from your being gone to findThey tear apart the mist, it is as though,Of too much truth to do much more than lieThe high whites spread over the buried earth.Want anything said at all, which I still doubt)Covering the land<br>Two of us, Docteur and Madame Machin, who standSculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form.That patch of white at the very end of the roadIs the moon to growCovering the land<br>Out of the road into a way acrossand turn it into something cartoon-funny.By bloody poolrattling, gasping his last.Stunned in their voiceless way to be aliveWhere does this all end? What is the vanishing
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