I draw coal in the snow,
I write on the surf strip,
I'm running along the line of life,
It is fired with cold and heat.
I look into the icy eyes,
I kiss the hot lips,
To be most accurately predicted
By the line, where destiny is written.
The third pain to forget in a dream,
To reach, fly or hide,
To be more likely to dissolve
In this time, in this fire.
Mary
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