Guide me home, my cold star.
I am yours, you are not mine.
The ugly wounds; your words will remind the servitude.
The miracles, Novembers; your coldness kills springs.
I am lost, I am yours - you will not cry for me.
My life, my grave. The last moans before farewell.
You are my cosmos. You are my fatal light.
The unwanted child, the damned divinity.
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