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Of light, my dear, I'm afraid,
ravenous hungry to feed,
the blood I got from the maid,
but other now I need.
At the dark edge of the storm
I dive in a pool of life,
riding a manta I scorn,
and finally I control the strife.
She's found my glyph on her neck,
I'm leaving, already on the deck,
While she cries aloud to look back.
I'm gone now, on the wing
hapless, I don't sing,
hapless, in the end of the spring.
di Jude the Obscure
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