When fogs rise from meadows
shall rip up to myself a leather
Two strings under a shoulder
I let in the white sea
Without windows now the house
Beautifully I break myself a skull
Two strings under a shoulder
I let in the white sea
I prick out to myself eyes
I split my own chest It is raining,
and my heart
becomes wet,
I open my thick veins
That to me to do further,
If as the old world I shall …
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