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The Skies they were ashen and sober
The leaves they were crisped and sere
The leaves they were withering and sere
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year...
--Edgar Allan Poe--
Outside the wind is howling through the trees
And the bright eye of the moon casts fingerbone shadows
Across your face as you gaze out the window
The darkness flicker
The candles you've lit to keep away
An unseen ghost of a draft
Causing them to tremble and sputter
GO BACK TO HELL
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