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Instincts still haunt the feeble mind,

So full of splinters, so full of demise,

Inverted tongues that speak from afar,

A tree sprouting leaves of treason,

A thousand shattered mirrors,

Reveling in truth, nay, in maze,

A swarm of rats, drowned, in a well,

An empty goblet overflows with delight,

Behold the restless nights,

With the same spider,

Crawling out of the same den,

Reluctant to abdicate.