In my torpid sleep last night
I was dancing, the moon glowed bright
My throat was mumbling with a voice
Ghosts haunted me without noice
Embers burning ’neath my tongue
Miracles last three days long
I wanted my daunted face to hide
Cold sweat was sneaking down my spine
On my shoulders perched the wraiths
I looked them straight in the eyes
They were silent long, except
Murmuring two words: Paris, end.
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