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I'll be your Epitaph
Over your dear dead heart I'll lift
As blithely as a bough,
Saying, "Here lies the cruel song,
Cruelly quiet now."
As blithely as a bough,
Saying, "Here lies the cruel song,
Cruelly quiet now."
I'll say, "Here lies the lying sword,
Still dripping with my truth;
Here lies the woven sheath I made,
Embroidered with my youth."
Still dripping with my truth;
Here lies the woven sheath I made,
Embroidered with my youth."
I'll sing, "Here lies, here lies, here lies—"
Ah, rust in peace below!
Passers will wonder at my words,
But your dark dust will know.
Ah, rust in peace below!
Passers will wonder at my words,
But your dark dust will know.
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