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Hate Close to Love

de Bragolin

A swing bangs on the wall
Of a manor amongst the colours of fall
Below a hatch I’ve found a book
As an organ repeats its hook
There is the shed, there is the saw
But not the chained one I was looking for

As silence comes I lose what goes
It’s the value I drew from hope
A growl, I stand out wide
But my axe has fear to strike
I see how it falls, I'm prone to run
Into those woods that hid the Sun

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