it was here, in summer,
when the grass was still grass,
before the fawns could hear
the dark hum of death.
my feet consumed
by the writhing evils
that pierce the sole
and sieze the bone.
every night it's a deadly fever
and if i am taken like eurydice,
if you can't pull me from this hell,
you'll have to drag the death out of me.
it was here in summer,
when the grass was still grass,
before the moan
of the meadow inverted.
every night it's a deadly fever
and if i am taken like eurydice,
if you can't pull me from this hell,
you'll have to drag the death out of me.
walk with your back to me.
don't turn around, i'm eurydice.
if you can't cure me of this fever
you'll have to drag the death out of me.
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