They don't twitch a muscle until you're dead,
Until all your gold has turned to lead -
Safely buried, in the garden of Mystery.
In the Womb of Nothingness;
The Tomb of all our Hopes,
Where lost loves forever Bloom:
Obsolete but unsullied,
Unmarked, perfectly intact.
Then they spoil your rest with their weeping,
Their reflexes become activated.
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